For When Night Ends
by half-breedMiralian
Summary: With Faust the alchemist subdued, Jack Frost is glad for some peace and quiet. His life and renewed relationship with the Nightmare King are both starting to look up. However, as he and his friends continue to tie up loose ends, new ones appear. A battle is inevitable, but perhaps it is the battle for his soul that should worry him the most. "STHS" sequel. Black/Frost.
1. Set Up Tranquility

**Set Up Tranquility**

It was blazing hot. The sun was right overhead, spreading its unholy heat over Burgess. And yet, a gust of surprisingly cold wind swept through a neighborhood, down a quiet street in the early morn, and came to a stop in front of a house, which was odd. Wind was supposed to continue on.

However, the figure which landed on the porch of that small house could not be mistaken for anyone else by any child on the block who could see him. He twirled the long shepherd's staff he carried and waited patiently as he listened to the noises coming from inside the house.

"—going to be late, and on your first day of school!"

"I am not!"

"Didn't you say you were going to pick up Mick?"

"Yeah, but I'm _not_ going to be late. There's a lot of time."

"Well, go on then."

"You'll tell me how it goes, right Jamie?"

"Aw, sure, Soph. I'm sure I'll have fun."

The door opened and Jamie Bennett stumbled out with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He caught sight of the spirit and grinned. "Hey!"

Jack Frost smirked. "Hey. You ready?"

The boy secured his backpack on both shoulders and nodded, and they set off for Mick's house. "You didn't hear that in there, did you?"

"Maybe. Sophie's pretty curious about your high school."

"Yeah. She's only eight, but I think she's scared, even though it's a long way off for her." He puffed out his chest proudly. "I'm supposed to set a good example for her! I'll tell her that today was great, because I know it will be."

Jack chuckled fondly and ruffled the kid's hair. If he did have a favorite child, it was definitely this one. "Are _you_ scared?"

Jamie deflated a bit and clutched his straps. "A little. Burgess High is a pretty big school. Maybe two thousand kids. I've never been to a school that big." He smiled. "But I think I'll be fine. You're here, and Mick will be there too, so that's great."

It wasn't difficult to figure out why he was relieved that Mick was his friend. Though both boys were fourteen, the former bully looked like he could be at least a sophomore, maybe even a junior. To be honest, Jack was also glad the pair had become friends. He knew how cruel high school kids could be. He had taken to observing them once, knowing that none of them could see him. Passing snide notes, spreading gossip, and isolating other children were only a few cruel acts which were not beneath them. Then again, this was Burgess, and the people here were probably considerably nicer than the spoiled brats he had seen in a New York boarding school.

They chatted about what the first day might be like and reached Mick's house. The boy was already waiting for them outside, and he and Jamie performed a ridiculous handshake that had Jack clutching his sides with laughter.

"It's not _that_ funny," Mick said as they all resumed walking. "I'm sure you Guardian guys have some weird way of greeting each other."

"Uh, yeah," Jack snarked. "It's called a wave, or a hug, or a 'well, hi there'. Not…that. Besides, I don't think I could see any of them doing that. They're too old."

They laughed brightly, and even though the sun beat down uncomfortably on the frost spirit, his heart was light because of the peace which pervaded it. This was how it was supposed to be: walking with friends, making jokes, then being able to look forward to returning to a safe home where someone was waiting.

Jack blushed as he thought of how he had slipped out of bed not too long ago, how the satin sheets had hushed softly back around a grey, lithe body which slumbered on peacefully, so lax after several hours of rather vigorous activities. _Yeah. I do have something to look forward to, now and forever._

Mick noticed his faraway look and cackled. "Well, well. Not too hard to guess what he's thinking about."

Jamie groaned. "Oh my God, let's not start on that."

"Shut up," Jack grumbled with embarrassment. Everything now was surprisingly domestic, but he wasn't one to complain. "What I think about is none of your business."

"You mean _who_ you think about," Jamie corrected. "But speaking of Pitch—"

"We weren't speaking of him!"

"—aren't you guys supposed to have some sort of big meeting today?"

The adventures Jack had gone through over the summer and even further back were made known only to a few when it was all over, namely Jamie and his group of friends. Some details had been left out merely because they were young, but they understood enough about the plot against Pitch and some of the issues that needed to be resolved. And somewhere a few weeks ago, they had caught wind of just how much the Nightmare King meant to him, and the teasing had continued on since.

Jack scratched his head. "Er, yeah. Though it's more of like an audience."

"With a king," Mick breathed in awe. "But how cool is that? You don't get to do that every day."

"Well, Pitch is a king too," Jack pointed out. _And I have the pleasure of him screwing my brains out almost every day._ His face reddened even further, and he clamped his teeth down over the perverse comment. There were children present. Unfortunately, the pair noticed the look he had and started teasing him again, all the way to Burgess High.

They met up with the other children who had stood by his side against Pitch several years ago. It was Jack's turn to tease quietly when he noticed how Mick suddenly clammed up around Cupcake. The girl had embraced her femininity over the years and now stood tall and proud over her friends, hair neatly styled with just a thin spread of pale pink lip gloss adorning her mouth. It was rather obvious, the way Mick stammered a good morning while Jamie and Pippa snickered together. Jack didn't let _that_ couple off the hook either, even if it wasn't close to being official. He shot Jamie a wicked smirk that had him spluttering and hurrying the others to the main doors. To be young and in love.

Jack leaned against his staff and waved. "Have a nice day!"

They waved back, and soon he was left to watch other children trickle in. He jumped when a black muzzle snorted hot air against the side of his face.

"Whoa, girl!"

Onyx nickered lowly and pressed her nose to his offered hand.

"They grow up so fast, huh? One night, you're terrorizing them in their sleep, the next, they hardly jump when they watch _Paranormal Activity_." He chuckled and scratched the smooth sand between her eyes. "But why're you here? I doubt—oh. He sent you to check up on me, didn't he."

The Nightmare pranced in place. Jack sighed and hopped on her back. "Fine, fine. Let's go home. But how about we take the long way, yeah?"

* * *

The salty breeze whipped his hair about him as they flew low over the ocean. It was a pleasant sensation, but his mind was rather occupied, no thanks to what Jamie had mentioned. That wretched meeting. Right.

He wondered doubtfully if Maro would really show up tonight. He had sent a Nightmare out last week to inform the tengu that they would need to meet King Sojobo soon in order to explain the circumstances behind his subjects' rebellion, but all he had received as a reply was a date and time they would meet. That day was today.

"What do you think?" he asked Onyx. "Can we still trust him?"

The beast tossed her mane, but that was all. Jack sighed. One thing he couldn't trust was a horse's clear response. They continued on to England and touched down in the mountains of north-west England's Lakeland, right in front of that lovely house he shared with the Boogeyman. He slipped off the horse and looked up at the lovely structure. He always did this. Always stood and marveled at the beauty of a place he could call his own—a place he could be with _him_.

_…Geez._

He marched up the steps and went in, wondering when he had turned into a sop. Probably a long time ago, right? He leaned his staff against the door—here, he didn't need to protect himself. This home was safe.

They had gotten a lot of work done this August. At first, it had been extremely difficult for him to keep up with Pitch as they refurbished the house by hand. All of the carpentry and assembly had to be precise and careful. The backyard had been a wasteland of scraps and sawdust for a while until the larger pieces of wood had been stacked by a tree for extra firewood, and the sawdust had been scattered on a playful wind. While they hadn't used any magic to aid them, they _had_ used the Nightmares to sand the rough wood at Jack's suggestion. Pitch had been affronted at the thought of using his precious darlings for such menial work, but after sanding a two-by-four alone, he quickly changed his mind.

The house was finished, more or less. Tiles had been laid, stairs repaired, windows replaced, and more. What needed to be done now was the furnishings. The den which Pitch had repaired was the only place that had been refurnished. No other rugs had been taken down from the attic. No electrical appliances had been installed in the kitchen, and the light bulbs had yet to be replaced. The intricate carvings that had been in the old beams of wood around had not been etched in yet, but Pitch said he would probably get to that soon.

Jack paused in the middle of the grand foyer and looked around proudly. This was their home. And it was perfect.

_Maybe we could host parties here soon,_ he thought eagerly. _This could be the ballroom, and there could be dances and—_

"Jack? Is that you?"

He grinned. "Yeah! Where are you?"

"Kitchen."

He found Pitch Black, Lord of the Shadows, leaning on the black marble countertop of the island there, glaring at the empty space where the refrigerator used to stand.

"What's up?"

"I don't like it," the shade growled in a very unroyal manner. "We don't need a refrigerator, or a stove, or a damn microwave."

Jack sighed. This argument again. "But it'll be convenient to have when we want to eat."

"We're immortals! We don't have to eat."

"But I want to. Food tastes good. Maybe you could, I dunno, store some fear in a nice set of Tupperware and keep it in the freezer. Heat it up in the microwave in the middle of the night when you have a weird craving." Jack actually thought about what he just said and burst into laughter. "Oh my God. _Yes_, that's why we need it."

Pitch turned to scowl at him, and Jack looked at his face. The past few weeks had turned the Nightmare King into something kinder when he was around Jack. Something…softer. And while he still had his extremely cruel edge about him when he left to terrorize the children of the world, he was like a completely different person within these walls.

Pitch's glare didn't last for long. It twisted into an exasperated smile. "Go on. Make jokes."

"Didn't I just do that?"

"I can't just preserve emotions like that. It doesn't work that way."

Jack stepped into his space and tilted his head up. "Pity. I really wanted that fridge."

"We're spirits, Jack. We can't just waltz into a store and buy one."

"Who said anything about buying?"

Twin eclipses of gold flashed with sudden mischievousness. "Oh? Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

Jack hesitated. To take a few clothes from a marketplace because he needed them was one thing. To lift a huge electrical appliance from a warehouse was perhaps a little too extreme. "Eh. Maybe not."

"Pity." Pitch dipped his head and sealed his lips against Jack's, his hot tongue sliding out to teasingly trace them. Warm hands snaked around to his back and dipped lower to rest on the curve of his ass. "I thought I'd have a reason to reward you for turning to the dark side."

That was _not_ fair. Jack whined as Pitch suddenly moved away to glare some more at where the stove had also been. "C'mon! I can't just steal a refrigerator! That's ridiculous."

"You suggested it."

"I…well, suggest something else! I want to be able to serve people when they come by for a visit."

Pitch looked wholly uninterested. "Who said anything about having visitors?"

Jack paused. "Um…but wouldn't it be nice to have company?"

"No. This is a safe house. I'm not going to compromise its location just because you want to entertain."

"Why? North does it all the time! He has parties! Every spirit knows where his home is. The other Guardians too."

Pitch did not look as lustful as he did a minute ago, which was enough to warn Jack. "And they know where my lair is. So we're all even. But I will not let them enter this house."

Jack swallowed in quiet frustration. Hadn't the shade said this home belonged to him too now? Then was it not his right to invite people over? However, he spied the tight look on Pitch's face and decided not to press the issue. The last thing he needed was a fight. Not while today was looking so bright. Instead, he sidled up playfully and nudged him. "I still want a fridge." He was confident that he would change Pitch's mind on having guests in the future. Certainly there were ways. And plenty of time. "Maybe North'll make me one."

Pitch relaxed at his casual tone, understanding that he wouldn't be pushed any further today. "I doubt he has time for that."

"I'll make him make time."

Pitch rolled his eyes and swept out of the kitchen, a giddy frost sprite on his heels. "Weren't you supposed to drop some brats off today?"

"Yeah, it's their first day of high school." He sniffled dramatically. "They grow up so fast."

"Not fast enough," Pitch muttered as they went into the foyer, snapping his fingers. Onyx came in through the window and pranced eagerly in place.

Jack laughed. "Well, they reminded me that we have a meeting today at Mt. Fuji."

"Right. Meeting with the tengu king." Pitch sounded less than enthusiastic. He pressed a hand to Onyx's head in silence, and the horse snorted once in understanding and dissolved into several streams of sand, one of which disappeared outside. The others scattered throughout the house, and Jack watched as the remaining one began to etch away at the grand staircase's bannister. The delicate spirals and patterns from the old beams were slowly carved into the wood.

"Cool. What's the matter though? We finally get to put an end to part of this. Clear up a misunderstanding."

"There's nothing wrong with it," Pitch said, but Jack knew he was lying.

"Wait. Could it be? Are you not happy because I get to see Maro again?"

It was no secret that Pitch rather hated the tengu. Whether it was because he had taken a liking to Jack or because he had been on the wrong side during Faust's terrorizing campaign was unclear. Although Jack had a good idea.

"That creature is worthless," Pitch spat. "I don't want you talking to him."

Hm. It was most likely jealousy. But it was very flattering. "I won't let him kiss me like that one time."

The shade fingered one of the new patterns on the railing. "Like those _two_ times."

Jack squawked indignantly and reminded him, "Okay, you let the second one happen."

"A mistake I will always regret," Pitch said honestly. "I have half a mind to keep you locked up in here."

"If you do that, you'll have to feed me."

Pitch took his pale hands into his and let the shadows dance around them a bit. That always made Jack smile with wonder. "Tell you what. You go get my tea set from the lair and I'll consider the refrigerator."

Jack shot to the second floor faster than a whip and was under the guestroom bed in mere seconds. As he passed through the doorway portal into the tunnel of Pitch's lair, he tried to wipe his smile from his face. This was unbelievable. Fantastically unbelievable. He padded out into the open on bare feet and shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket. Once they sorted things out with Sojobo, and once they found the culprit who had urged Faust to go on a power-stealing rampage, he could go back to spreading fun without a care in the world. Pitch could do his little nightmare thing. And then both of them would live happily ever after.

_As if._

Jack actually hoped life wouldn't be that perfect. It would be monotonous if it was. What they needed was something not so picturesque. They would fight, but he wasn't worried about that. It would add spice. He wanted his fun life _and_ his love life to be filled with unexpected twists and turns of adventure, be it physically or emotionally. That was how it ought to be. And just by being that way, it would, in a sense, be perfect.

He almost missed the black figure standing quietly in the middle of the lair before he entered the main cavern. However, he saw, and he froze, and he ducked behind a fallen slab of rock to observe.

It was Isobel Gowdie, clad in her usual Victorian dress of black, hair pulled back in a beautiful bun. Her blood red lips were pursed as she stared at the cavern walls in concentration. She didn't look like she was deep in her own thoughts, but like she was…scouting. Jack frowned and wondered if he should make himself known. Pitch had told him not to trust Isobel, and to fear her, but that was rather difficult. She seemed to be on decent terms with the Boogeyman, and he recalled vaguely how the other Guardians weren't too alarmed when Pitch mentioned her to them long ago. In addition to that, she _had_ been a great asset to them in dealing with Faust's forces, as she somehow managed to convince the incubus, Irdu Lili, to spy for her.

_She's not so bad, is she?_ he wondered, stepping out of the shadows and into her view. In truth though, he was trying to convince himself of that.

Isobel gave a soft "_oh_" when she saw him, then smiled politely. "Jack Frost. How have you been?"

He smiled back. She practically radiated good feelings and kindness. "Great, actually. You?"

She sighed. "Well, life has been a little difficult as of late, but it has treated me with kindness. I'm sorry for intruding. I was hoping to see Pitch. Is he around?"

"No, sorry. I'm just here to pick some things up for him." He motioned for her to follow him to the kitchen. "We never thanked you for helping out with Faust."

"Oh, that was nothing. I hear you have everything resolved."

Jack shrugged as they went in. He began to open the cupboards until he found the one which housed Pitch's precious china. The white porcelain was decorated with delicate blue etchings of tiny plants, people, and animals. Jack carefully took a few out before he remembered that he had to answer. "Oops. Yeah, we caught him and stuff, but it's a little more complicated than that. We think…" He bit his cheek suddenly. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to reveal his friends' suspicions too someone Pitch claimed could not be trusted.

The woman apparently took no offense to his silence, because she laughed gaily and began to take a few of the plates down. "I am aware of what you all think. Someone had to have urged Faust to do what he did, right? But that's a logical conclusion. He is brilliant in alchemy, but for a scheme like that, he couldn't have thought it up alone. Nor could he have found the Seal of Solomon on his own."

Jack started to agree, but his voice stuck in his throat. Had he…said anything about the Seal?

Slowly, he put down a cup and looked at her, mind racing. His staff was at the house, and although he could manage without it, they were in close proximity. This was—

"Oh dear. I've given you a fright." Isobel patted his arm before he could even flinch. "You're wondering, 'How did she know it was the Seal', yes? Simple. I've always known."

Jack spluttered, still on guard. "Then why didn't you tell any of us?"

She shrugged and took out the last of the dishes. "I may have helped you, but I am still, for lack of a better expression, a creature of darkness, so to speak. I like to cause a little mayhem. Pitch probably told you not to trust me, right? Well, that's why. I give information when I feel like it, withhold it when I don't. Make no mistake, I don't want to see him hurt, but it is still in my nature."

That did absolutely _nothing_ to reassure him. "When you say you're a creature of darkness…"

"I'm a witch, dear," Isobel explained patiently. "I do apologize for not warning you about the Seal, but I was confident that you all could handle it. And you did, didn't you?"

Yes, they did, but Jack had been knocked out for two weeks and Pitch had part of his darkness mercilessly ripped from his soul. If that was handling it, then sure. Fine. He scowled and stepped away from her, though there wasn't really anywhere to go in the kitchen. "What made you help us in the first place?"

Isobel Gowdie got a rather dreamy look in her eyes, and Jack's suspicions quelled slightly. He had seen that look before in plenty of spirits he had befriended, and humans too, when they told him something about people they were _fond_ of.

"Pitch Black and I…go way back."

"You were in love with him," Jack realized, something stirring uncomfortably in his heart. Here was a former rival, then. Wasn't that dangerous though? Wouldn't she want him out of the way if she still had feelings for him?

However, the beautiful witch lost her starry-eyed expression and laughed. "Love? I suppose. It was more of a crush, really. We met in Scotland when I was a very young girl. It was a difficult time for me. Pitch may seem rather heartless when it comes to dealing out nightmares, but he has his moments." She traced a plate. "I bought him this china set some centuries ago as a thank you gift. It does warm my heart to see that he still uses it."

Jack squinted at her. She was an enigma. Perhaps, when Pitch had said she couldn't be trusted, he had meant that she was very difficult to figure out. Maybe. "Scotland?"

"My accent has faded," she admitted. "I sound American now, but it doesn't matter. The point is that I am very fond of Pitch. Yes, I love him, but not like you do."

Jack blanched. Had he ever told her…no, no he hadn't. "How did you—"

"It's rather easy to see," she admitted. "I don't need to be me to figure that out."

Jack thought of the other oblivious Guardians, Bunny especially, and had to disagree. "I think it's because you have that woman's intuition." She laughed at the comment, and he found himself smiling. Maybe she couldn't be trusted, but she was a kind enough person. "Well, I have to get back to…him."

"Let me help." She snapped her fingers, and a cardboard box popped up on the counter. Jack stared. "Simple summoning spell. Pitch taught me. Let's get these dishes packed away."

As they wrapped the plates and cups in the old newspapers that were in the box, he decided that he could spend some time asking a few more questions. "So this thing with you and Pitch. How long did it happen?"

"There was never a thing," she replied, though her eyes rolled to the ceiling in thought. "It was more of…he was the master and I was the apprentice. Naturally, I developed a crush. But he always treated me like his own daughter."

The thought of Pitch having a child made Jack wonder. Did Pitch have family? In all honesty, he couldn't see him treating her like his child. The image just wouldn't sit in his mind. After all, this was Pitch Black he was thinking of. King of Nightmares, Shadow Walker, Boogeyman, etcetera. So many titles which were a testament to his "evil" nature. He suddenly recalled what Pitch had said long ago to him in Antarctica before his defeat. He had said that he had once longed for a family. Perhaps helping Isobel Gowdie when she was a little girl had been an attempt to start one.

"I can see those gears turning in your brain," said woman remarked. "If you have questions, ask him."

"He won't tell me. He's pretty hush-hush on a lot of things."

"I think you just have to catch him at the right time."

Jack could not deny that he liked this woman. "Alright."

They packed, and he continued to ask her what else Pitch had taught her as a child. It was a friendly conversation, one he was sorry to end, but he did have places to be, and Pitch would probably be wondering where he was. "I think he scares easily when it comes to me."

"That's just proof of his love, even if he doesn't say it," Isobel said comfortingly as they entered the main cavern. At Jack's surprised look, she nodded. "I know he never said it to you, because he never said it to me either. And I _know_ he loved me, though it was only as his daughter. That's just how he is."

"I'll make him say it to me," Jack vowed, shifting the box in his hands determinedly. "Thanks for your help, and for the talk. It was nice."

"Not a problem."

They stood there awkwardly for a minute, mostly because Jack was hoping she would leave first. Pitch had made such a big deal about keeping his home a secret that he didn't want to let her see the tunnel he was going to take. Isobel got a funny expression on her face and suddenly laughed. "I see. You're heading to _that_ house. No, no, don't look so frightened. I know about that too. The one in England, right? He made that a couple centuries ago for me."

"For _you?_"

She nodded seriously, her smile never fading. "There is so much you don't know, Jack Frost. I hope Pitch tells you everything one day. And I hope you succeed in your interrogation with Faust."

"How did you know about…nah, nevermind. I bet you've got informants."

"Always. I do what I must. Irdu is most helpful."

Jack shuddered at the thought of the devilish incubus. "Right. I'll tell Pitch that you were looking for him."

She thanked him and a swirl of smoke suddenly snapped about her from her feet, causing her to vanish. Jack looked around wildly before spotting her on high by one of the stone archways which served as a portal. She waved goodbye and vanished into the soft yellow light. Jack stared for a little while before turning home.

* * *

It was difficult to get the box out from under the bed. It required a bit of shoving on his part, but he finally made it and called for Pitch as he made his way into the kitchen. The shade found him unpacking and stepped in with approval. "Well, well. You kept them safe."

"Isobel helped me."

A hot hand closed on the nape of his neck and forced him to look up. "_What?_"

Jack shrank into himself. Pitch's eyes were blown wide, glistening with a mixture of surprise, anger, and worry. "I'm…I'm okay. She was looking for you. She just helped me pack them up and said she wanted to talk to you."

Pitch let him go, but his gaze held him there. "What else did she say?"

Jack noted the tremors running along his broad shoulders and reached up to touch him. Pitch jerked back, but when Jack quickly seized his arms and brushed his lips against his collarbone, he slowly exhaled, though his frame did not relax.

"Okay, mister. What's the problem?"

"I don't…trust her."

"Neither do I." He felt Pitch press his nose against his neck and breathe in. "Seriously?"

The shade sounded frustrated as he demanded, "Why do I not smell your fear? You should be afraid of her!"

"There was nothing _to_ be afraid of," Jack said calmly, kissing the underside of his jaw. "We just talked, that's all. I don't trust her, I promise you that, but she's extremely nice."

"You are extremely ignorant," Pitch snapped. He glanced at the box on the counter and set some shadows loose on it. Jack thought they were going to tear the container to shreds, but they only swirled around it for a moment before returning to the grey hand. Pitch grunted. "Only a summoning spell."

"What did you think it was?"

Pitch slowly turned his eyes back to the winter spirit. "…Nothing."

Jack thought about what Isobel had said. Pitch's worry was a testament to his love. It was very sweet too. His lips curled into a smile, despite the disapproving stare he faced. "I'm fine, okay? She just wants to talk. But for now, we have some china to put away. Alright?"

The Nightmare King hesitated, then dipped his head and claimed a kiss. It was a very possessive one, as well as exploratory, as though he were checking to make sure Jack was alright. The taste of winter and midnight was beautiful and comforting to Jack.

When Pitch was satisfied, he brushed his lips against the spirit's cool cheek and murmured, "Alright."

Jack held his gaze a little longer to make sure everything was settled for now, then patted his cheek and turned back to the wrapped dishes. "Good. Now, about my refrigerator."

Pitch Black's groan was music to his ears.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aaaaand we're off! Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the long promised (procrastinated) sequel. See you in a week for chapter 2!

Gotta say, though. The more I look at what I have in store for Isobel Gowdie, the more I smile. She is a complex character to me, and I am going to love jerking all of your heartstrings around. You might hate me along the way, but I don't care! Enjoy.


	2. Run Me Ragged

**Run Me Ragged**

The next few hours saw Jack darting about the house to admire every beam the Nightmares tended to. There were not only patterns, but words written in that foreign language Pitch seemed so fond of, as well as pictures of people, creatures, and battles on some of the larger panels running along the walls and bookshelves. There was an intricate history being detailed here, and Jack knew absolutely nothing about it.

_Talk to him, she said,_ he thought glumly as he watched Pitch inspect some work on the paneling in the den. _But he's not going to want to talk back, most likely. I should at least…ask, shouldn't I?_

Granted, when they were dealing with Faust, there had not been much time for him to pry into Pitch's past. He knew that the man had been a soldier of some sort. That much had been obvious from the armor and weapons he had stored away in the attic. He had probably even had a high position in an army from the way he acted at strategy meetings. Jack never mentioned his musings to Pitch, even when they were working on the house in peace, because all of those relics were locked away for a reason.

Still, he could not help but believe that the man had been a fantastic fighter. Though it pained him to recall the time when Sandy had been destroyed, Pitch's shot had been dead on. That kind of masterful archery could only be displayed through hard training. So what kind of army _had_ Pitch been a part of?

_Just ask him, dammit!_

But as he looked at Pitch straighten with one finger pressed to a small, approving smile, he decided that the sensitive issue could be left for later. The light was waning here anyway and they had places to be. "Should we split?"

The shade extended an arm, and Jack stepped into his embrace. "Why not. It does not pay to be late."

That familiar chill crawled up Jack's spine as they were dropped into a pool of darkness. He wasn't overly fond of shadow travel, but it was quick. They stepped into the Workshop a second later and made their way to the Globe Room.

"Jack!"

He found himself with an armful of soft feathers, followed by a mouthful of delicate fingers. "Goog ta thee you too, Tooth."

"Just making sure they're untainted," she justified, tossing a glance at Pitch. "Haven't seen _you_ at all in the night zone. Taking a break with your Nightmares?"

"Not in the least," Pitch replied, though he bowed graciously in greeting. "I'm simply wise enough to stay out of your way."

Jack regarded the pair as they talked. Their relationship was a good one, or it had been rather good since Tooth had admitted to knowing what they were up to. It was funny when Jack thought about it, because he had once had a twinge or two of jealousy when he thought that Pitch might try to charm the Tooth Fairy because he was interested. That thought had long since dissipated, and now the two who had once been mortal enemies were now chatting companionably about God knows what.

He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and trotted over to North, waving his staff with a cheery "hello".

"Jack. Erm, have you been seeing your bird friend lately?"

He frowned. "He's not here yet?"

"No." North cracked his knuckles nervously. "I have met King Sojobo before. A very regal man—er, tengu. I don't believe he'd appreciate lateness. You can contact Maro, yes?"

"Not exactly." Jack drummed his fingers on his staff. "Let's give him an hour or so. I mean, we only agreed to meet early because we would discuss what we would say to the king. I think he's just having a case of nerves. This is pretty dangerous for him, you know."

"Of course, yes."

Jack smiled. "What, you scared of some old birdbrain? So what if we're late? It's his problem, and it's his fault for not keeping tabs on his subjects."

North chuckled a little. "No, I am not frightened. But a king must be respected. You do not understand how certain hierarchies work. Sojobo has ruled the tengu for many centuries. He is old and probably weary. It's difficult. Try not to judge him too much when you meet him."

Jack ducked his head in shame. "Sorry."

North just patted him roughly on his back. "We all judge before we know. It's natural. Now, come! I have cookies for you to try!"

The hour was spent waiting and tasting the concoctions North had prepared in his kitchens. Bunny and Sandy eventually showed up, each glad to see their frosty friend, and joined him in snacking. Everything was pleasant until Pitch and Tooth wandered in and an argument between the shade and the Pooka started up, though it was hardly a surprise. As Jack nibbled on a piece of sponge cake and watched the energetic insults fly across the warm kitchen, he had the desperate urge to move this scene to the home in England. Honestly, if Pitch could just see the potential, the _warmth_ in all of this…

Jack twitched nervously. A chill had crawled up his spine. It was much like a sense of foreboding. He stuffed the rest of the cake in his mouth and snuck out. The Workshop was very busy, and none of the yetis looked like they had noticed anything out of the ordinary. _Of course they haven't. You're being paranoid._

But where the hell was Maro?

Jack left through the skylight and looked around the great icy mountains surrounding the workshop. Down below, in the obscured sunlight which never faded here during the summer, was the snowy stretch of ground which he had flown across, pursued by dozens of unearthly white apes and tengu. He shuddered and kicked his once shattered leg a few times. He hadn't had phantom pains, but that was one incident he would like to never relive.

He circled once around the Workshop, then flew through the village. That strange feeling had left him, but that didn't mean it hadn't creeped him out. However, all was relatively peaceful. Elves and yetis walked the cobblestone streets. The reindeer grazed in the outdoor stables. So what in the world—

There was that damn shiver again.

Jack flew back to the workshop and circled it again, but there was _nothing_ wrong. The yetis who were stationed in some of the towers were giving him weird looks now. He waved nervously and landed on the wooden ramp of the launch tunnel. _I guess it was nothing._

It would have continued to be nothing if he hadn't continued to walk forward. He brandished his staff when he heard someone rasp his name in the shadows of some towering ice columns. He hesitated, then ventured further into the tunnel. In the distance, he could hear the clink of hammers being taken to the support beams. The yetis were always at work, making sure the ceiling was stable.

"_Please._"

He wondered if, by some strange coincidence, Pitch's Fearlings were playing a trip on him, but this voice had a little more substance to it than the creatures of shadows. He spied a dark shape curled up by a large rock of ice. It was a person, struggling to draw breath. "Who's there?"

The figure lifted its head. "_Jack?_"

"Oh, _shit_." He dropped his staff and raced to the injured tengu's side. "Maro? Maro! Oh my God, _no_, no, hey, what the hell happened?"

Maro started to say something, but was interrupted as violent coughs seized his body. Jack touched him in a panic, then saw that his hands were quickly becoming stained with violent red. Maro's chest was plowed over with hideous, raw gashes which had obviously been rendered by cruel claws, and the bruises forming on his skin were very fresh. He choked when Jack tried to help him sit up, so really all the young spirit could do was look on helplessly.

"Who did this to you?" He pulled off his hoodie, wadded it up, and pressed it to the largest of the lacerations, gasping as Maro struggled beneath the pressure. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I have to! I have to stop the bleeding!"

He didn't know what else to do. Even now, the tengu's face was blurring because his eyes were filling with helpless tears. He gained his senses when Maro wrapped a trembling hand around his wrist.

Jack whipped his head about and screamed down the tunnel, "Help me! Please, somebody, _help me!_"

He shouted until he was hoarse, and when the yetis finally appeared, he continued to shout at them because they weren't moving fast enough, and Maro was probably going to die because they weren't hurrying—

"Help me, you bastards!"

It was a grueling five minutes of them trying to drag him away from the body—no, from Maro, because he wasn't a corpse yet, he still lived, still _breathed_, didn't he? He kicked and clawed and even sank his teeth into one furry arm, but they were stronger than him while he was panicking, and the last glimpse he saw of the tengu was of his chest freezing in the middle of drawing breath.

* * *

The conversation was kept low for his sake, but he needed to listen. North had shoved him in a guest room with a new sweatshirt and said he should just rest. Jack had considered taking his advice, but the overwhelming concern he felt for his friend forced him to crack open the door.

_Friend? Since when?_ he asked himself as he dropped to his hands and knees and crept out onto the landing. He paused. _Doesn't matter. He's my friend now. I'll just have to tell him when…when he wakes up._

He peered down through the railing posts. The round table North had set up to accompany all the spirits flooding in with their troubles during Faust's reign of terror had been disassembled and put away. A long rectangular table, the one which had originally belonged on that level, had resumed its rightful place on top of an embroidered rug of red, silver, and gold. The Guardians and Pitch were seated there, speaking in hushed tones.

"His injuries were very serious," Tooth murmured. "I've sent Baby Tooth ahead to let King Sojobo know that we might not make it."

Bunny tried to lift their spirits. "I gave him a few potions, so he should heal up well. He'll be fine. The wounds were serious, yeah, but they only looked bad because of their depth. All in all, they were pretty clean hits."

Pitch folded his hands. "He is lucky to have two expert healers attending to him." Bunny frowned as though he were waiting for the usual insult which followed, but the comment had been sincere, so his ears went forward to hear the rest of what his rival had to say. "Unfortunately, I think we all know who instigated this attack."

The solemn nods only furthered Jack's confusion. He was lost.

"I cannot believe they would take it this far," North grumbled. "They are his brethren!"

Jack realized that they were talking about other tengu, the ones who had joined Maro in his rebellion. Rage gripped his heart. Those idiots were Maro's brothers-in-arms, and even though he had betrayed them, it had been for the best. It had stopped their foolish quest for power, a quest which they never would have completed anyway.

"The real question is how they figured it out," Pitch said.

"But it would've been obvious enough as it was, right?" Tooth asked.

"Would it?" Pitch replied seriously. "How could they have known? They weren't keeping an eye him. He was their leader. There was no reason for them to distrust him."

"Well, they must've, because they tried to shred him!" Bunny protested.

"Unless someone told them."

The silence fell over them like a thick blanket. Jack put his back to the railing and bit his nails. Who in the world would want to see Maro fall, if not his own comrades? He decided to forego listening to the rest of his friends' conversation and sneak quietly down the open hallway, training his ears to the surprisingly still air. North had suspended the heavier operations of the Workshop until the meeting was over, so there was only a duller hum of the usual assembly buzz down below.

Jack knew they had put Maro up here on his floor. He had heard the yetis making enough noise in one of these rooms, but he couldn't be sure of which. He opened each door as quietly as he could until, three doors down, he found Maro lying in bed, the curtains drawn to keep the light out. He shut the door softly behind him and waved when the tengu glanced over. "How're you feeling?"

Maro blinked silently and returned his gaze to the ceiling.

Jack didn't know what he had done to deserve that, but he chalked it up to his friend – _We are, because I say we are_ – being very tired from such a vicious attack. He pulled up a stool and sat near his head, clasping his hands together. "Um…the others were talking. They said that…some of your friends might have attacked you. Though I guess you guys aren't friends now, huh?"

A frown marred his brow. "We were never friends."

"O-oh. Then what were you?"

A weary sigh. "Just useless birds who wanted a better life. A better home. We were drawn together by a common need. That's all."

Jack nodded. "But we're friends, right? Even if I don't have some 'common need', like you said."

Maro looked surprised. "Us? Friends?"

The young spirit fidgeted. "Okay, so I call us friends because you helped me. Hell, you saved me from that ape that one time, and you're willing to testify before your king, even though you know you'll be…cast out. Unless you don't want to do it anymore, which is totally understandable, because seriously, those guys did a number on you."

Maro managed a breathy laugh. "I won't go back on my word, kid. I'll go before my king. Honestly, the other tengu I commanded have probably heard of what I intend to do by now, no thanks to my attackers, so it can't get much worse." He paused and cocked his head, as though thinking of something important. "And I guess we can be friends now. Why not. I could use one at the moment."

Jack heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. 'Cause if you said no, that'd be really awkward. When do you think we should reschedule the meeting for?"

"We won't reschedule. We'll go now." Maro carefully propped himself up, pushing Jack away when he protested. "Your rabbit friend's pretty handy with his potions. I'm fine. It's just going to hurt for a while. Nothing I can't handle. And if I'm being realistic, I probably won't…" He trailed off, orange hawk eyes widening with something like fearful acceptance. Jack started when Maro covered his face with his hands and shuddered. "Sorry, Jack. But I don't think we'll be friends for long."

"Why? What's wrong?"

Maro shook his head and brought his legs over the edge of the bed so he could sit up properly. "You'll see soon enough. I'd rather get this over with. Come on, help me up."

As Jack did, the door swung open and Pitch stepped in. He did not look happy with the way the birdman leaned heavily on the winter sprite, and his lips curled into a sneer. "If you're healthy enough to stand, you're healthy enough to continue with the audience."

"My thoughts exactly," Maro returned challengingly.

Jack silently prayed that he wouldn't be caught in the middle of a pissing contest.

* * *

Stepping out of North's portal in the middle of a forest at the base of Mt. Fuji was surreal enough. For one, the silence was deafening. And surprisingly calming. Jack stopped walking just to look around. The trees were so thick here that he could not look past one trunk without seeing another. Maro, whose wounds had healed a little further thanks to a little more medicine administered by Tooth, noticed his pause and turned back to him. "You like it?"

"Yeah," Jack agreed, thumping his staff on some jutting roots and sending little furls of frost along it. "I've flown over thousands of times but…every time I thought I might want to take a look, I always got this weird feeling, like I shouldn't try."

"That's the wards. This forest is special. It's called Aokigahara, the—"

"Sea of Trees," Jack finished. At Maro's surprised look, he added hastily, "Claude and Caleb invited me to a sleepover with some others. We watched a _lot_ of anime."

"Who are Claude and Caleb?"

"A couple human friends of mine. Ooooh, you should totally meet them! They'd flip—"

"If you're going to talk," Pitch snapped from far up ahead, "then keep walking. I'm not circling back for you if you get lost."

Maro's wings fluttered with irritation. "He won't get lost as long as I'm here!"

Pitch spat angrily and turned faced ahead, glaring at the Guardian of Memories as she patted his arm sympathetically. The pair behind resumed walking, though Jack couldn't help but laugh into his hand. "Can't believe it."

"What's his deal?" Maro grumbled.

Oh, there were so many ways to answer that, and all of them would be the right way, but Jack stuck to some simpler answers. "He just has a lot on his plate right now. And he's worried about me."

"I don't think anyone should be worried about you. You're strong enough as is." Maro rubbed his hands together, as though remembering one of his more personal encounters with him.

Jack shrugged. "We've got all of this stuff to finish up. And then there's you."

"Me?"

"He thinks you're gonna, I don't know, steal me away or something. He's still pissed about when you kissed me."

Maro observed him wisely for a second. "I don't think so, kid. He could still be angry at me for ruining Irdu's plans to lead you astray. That was supposed to keep you safe, but I put you in danger by directing you to Moscow."

_Oh._ That made a lot more sense.

Up ahead, their companions had stopped. When they reached them, Jack floated up to see over their heads and was alarmed to see several creatures blocking their paths with weapons—swords and long spears and staffs with strange rings attached to them. The most bizarre part, however, were the creatures themselves. They were covered in black feathers, with heads like birds of prey. Their wings, as large as Maro's, were spread wide in warning, and one of the curved beaks opened to croak a warning.

"You have no business here."

Tooth fluttered forward, and the creatures took a step back. Perhaps it was because she too had wings. "The king expects us. We've come to discuss the incident involving your rogues."

They were tengu, Jack realized, in their true form. He turned to look at Maro, wondering why he had never appeared that way, but the man was already pushing his way to the front. Several unhappy noises came from his brethren, as well as a few biting insults, but he bravely stared each one of them down as he spoke. "We are late enough as is. Take us to him."

The leader cawed angrily and beat his wings, but Maro matched the display by spreading his own and lowering his hands slowly to his side, as though preparing to attack. The tengu stared at him, then motioned that the group should follow. Jack hurried to Maro's side and punched his arm comfortingly. All he got was a half-hearted smile.

It looked like they were going to walk all the way to the base of the mountain, but when Jack looked up again, he was shocked to see that Mt. Fuji loomed right overhead. They were already here.

"How the heck," he started to whisper as they descended into a tunnel in the side of the mountain.

"Aokigahara is a very peculiar forest," Maro replied just as quietly while their escorts lit torches to guide the way. "In some ways, it has a mind of its own. I cannot explain how the magic works, but it is ancient and should not be taken lightly. Many humans have become lost here and met their deaths. Many spirits too."

Jack was immensely glad that he had not tried to enter before.

* * *

"You will wait here," their guide said.

They had been led to a waiting room with a high ceiling, old tapestries, and roots jutting powerfully through stone. Guards were stationed in the doorway, but the Guardians did not look very unnerved. Pitch appeared very indifferent too, so Jack did not understand why Maro appeared so unhappy. "You okay?"

"No," came the honest reply. "I fear…" He went silent and bowed his head. His body shook, and Jack did not understand a thing until he noticed that the tengu was crying.

He looked helplessly at Pitch, who waved him over. He went and sat by him at the far end of the large table which stood in the middle of the room. "What's wrong with him? He just keeps cutting himself off!"

Bright golden eyes did not leave his. "Jack, I…am sorry that you must be here for this. I don't like him, but you have…clearly taken a liking to him—"

Jack shut that thread of conversation down by seizing his hand under the table. He wanted to do so much more to reassure Pitch, but the others were present, and he _really_ didn't want to risk being discovered, even if no one was looking at them. He settled for gently threading their fingers together and sending familiar whorls of frost spiraling across that heated hand. He wondered if he could tell Pitch what he was thinking without Bunny overhearing it. That stupid rabbit and his large ears could pick up almost anything, and since they were in such a small room, it was inevitable.

He made sure Pitch was looking right at him, and silently willed the shade to read his emotions. He wanted him to know how he belonged to him, how there was no way in high heaven that he would ever leave him for Maro the tengu. Pitch Black _was_ his heart now. And he would have to get used to being his heart for a very long time. When there was no reaction, Jack wondered if he wasn't getting through.

However, Pitch's eyes burned a little brighter a moment later, and warm shadows slid over Jack's hand in a subtle embrace. Jack blinked with relief. That was good. Very good.

"So will you stop worrying?" he murmured as quietly as possible.

"I was never worried about that," Pitch replied. "I just don't trust him to not try something."

Jack laughed fondly and dropped his forehead onto Pitch's shoulder. Thank God, then. There was no doubt in their love for one another, at least.

"Oi!" Bunny grumbled from the other side of the room where he had been looking over a tapestry with Sandy. "Could ya not?"

Jack rolled his eyes as the Pooka turned away, but lifted himself so there was some space. When he tried to pull his hand away though, Pitch refused to let go. Jack grinned. He could work with that. "This is so grade school."

Pitch snorted. "Now that that's cleared up, what is it?"

_Oh!_ He had nearly forgotten about Maro. He guiltily glanced over at the birdman, who had taken a seat on a mat on the adjacent wall. He looked like he was meditating. "What is he so afraid of?"

"What do you know of Japanese culture?"

"Enough, I guess. I make it my business to learn about the cultures of the kids I play with."

"Do you know about the ways of the samurai?"

Jack was going to reply that, yes, he did, though he wasn't really fond of history lessons, but their guide returned and ordered them to follow. Maro stood immediately and took point as they all filed out and went further into the mountain.

When they came to the entrance of the throne room, Jack could not help but stumble as he peered up into the dark, trying his best to take in all the intricate details carved into the great stone doors which stretched upward. Images of tengu and other creatures native to this land were carved in them, as well as scenes of battles and feasts, including words of encouragement and warning. Jack was just about to read a few when the doors swung open, letting them in.

The throne room, as it happened, was very simple. It looked more like a large cave than anything. There were a few rough columns stretching from floor to ceiling, and when Jack squinted, he could see more scenes carved into the far walls. Lanterns lit a wide wooden path to the other side. However, at the far end where a throne should have sat was an indent in the wall, as though a room had been carved out in it. Covering it was a hanging screen, and from behind it Jack could see a silhouette of a large man with magnificent outstretched wings. He noted how Maro's step faltered, so he moved beside him for reassurance.

Maro nodded gravely to him, but definitely did not look reassured.

Their guards led them to the wooden floor before the screen, and Jack bowed awkwardly with everyone when prompted. Then the guards then took their stations on either side of the screen.

Maro wasted no time in stepping away from the group and kneeling. He bowed again, this time pressing his head to the floor, and said, "My lord. Forgive me."

The wings of the man behind the screen seemed to extend a little further, and a voice inquired slowly and roughly, "Your name?"

"Maro, son of Atsushi," he replied, voice cracking a little.

"You are the one from the reports, then. The one who led the rebellion."

Maro shuddered. "I am."

"You are the one who chose to disobey my orders and turn your brethren against me."

"I…am."

Jack frowned. Maro had stepped out alone, and the rest had chosen to follow. He had done nothing to convince them, so why was he taking the blame?

"Do you know how many have died under your command?"

"I do, my lord."

"What have you to say for this shameful act?"

"Only that I am willing to pay the price."

Jack didn't understand what was going on when Maro pulled off his shirt. In the firelight, his lacerations looked even worse than ever, and a few had even begun to bleed again. Jack wondered if the right medicine had been administered, but then he started when Maro held out a hand and cracked it, extending his claws.

"Wait," he whispered even as the young tengu placed his claws at his belly.

_"Do you know about the ways of the samurai?"_ Pitch had asked him.

The ways of the samurai.

Before he knew what he was doing, Jack leapt forward and tackled Maro to the ground. The guards shrieked and pointed their spears at him, but he pushed his friends hands out of the way and made sure that there was no damage done, then glared hotly at the figure behind the screen. "You've got no right to make him do that!"

The guards were outraged by the disrespect and stepped forward to detain him. Jack brandished his staff, ignoring the warnings of his friends behind him. Beneath him, Maro struggled against his weight, crying something about letting him die with what little honor he had left. Jack had half a mind to punch him for being so dumb.

"Hold."

The guards froze, but Jack kept an eye on them.

King Sojobo was quiet again for a moment, then said, "I would speak to Maro alone."

"Like hell you will," Jack spat, only to yelp when he was suddenly dragged to his feet by hot hands. He screeched and fought against Pitch as he was roughly pushed towards the doors. The guards followed the group all the way out, and then shut the doors behind them. Jack tried to run towards them, but Pitch shoved him against the wall.

"He's going to kill him!" Jack shrieked in rage. "He's—"

A sharp slap echoed about the cavern walls, and he could hear the Guardians protesting immediately. However, he was too stunned to pay attention. Pitch had hit him. Had…

"You are a stupid, _stupid_ boy," the shade snarled fiercely, shaking him. "Do you understand what could have happened?"

Jack tried to answer, but he was shocked to find that he couldn't. Pitch's glare became distorted because his eyes were filling with tears. They raced down his pale cheeks, cold and fast, and he struggled to breathe. He had been trying to do the right thing! He didn't give a shit about whatever traditions of honor still lived in these mountain halls. Maro committing suicide because a group of idiots had decided to follow him was the last thing that needed to happen.

He ripped away from the Nightmare King, chest heaving, and turned his back on his friends who were trying to get his attention. He walked through the twisting tunnels, all the way to the waiting room, ignoring the guards who gave him strange looks with their piercing black eyes, and dragged a chair to a corner of the room. He sat down, pulled his legs up, hid himself beneath his hood, and sniffled. This was just not his day.

Ten minutes later, he heard someone enter.

"We really need to work on that."

He considered a very rude reply, but decided to forego it. "…Work on what?"

"Your responses to what you _think_ are accusations."

"Are you saying you _weren't_ accusing me of being stupid?"

"Oh, no, I was," Pitch said with a light laugh.

That rude reply decided to make itself known. "Yeah, well, fuck you."

A sigh. "I'm not going to apologize for what I said. All you were focused on in there was that little birdboy."

"He's my friend," Jack shot back, looking up to glare at him. He was leaning against the table, looking far too unconcerned about the winter spirit's sulkiness.

"That's not the point. Maro might have had the intention of dying an honorable death, but did you ever hear King Sojobo give the order?"

"No, but—"

"What were his words before Maro decided to jump the gun?"

"…Something like 'what do you have to say for yourself', yeah?"

"Close enough. Did you hear an order in that sentence?" A pause. "And while you were so busy ogling that fool as he bared himself—"

"Jealous?" Jack quipped.

Pitch's casual stance straightened. His golden eyes glimmered softly with the kind of emotions Jack loved to see, no matter how mad he was at him. "I don't doubt your loyalty, you silly boy."

"So I've become silly, not stupid?"

"For the love of—did you not see the guards who were stepping forward to _prevent_ Maro's suicide?"

Jack hesitated. "I…didn't really notice."

Pitch went to him and knelt, taking his hands up. "Here is a life lesson I shall teach you, Jack: you shouldn't always focus on the main event. Keep an eye on what's going on in the wings. It may save your life one day."

Jack bit his lip and pressed their foreheads together. "Shit."

"Indeed. If you had discharged your ice, it would have been his right to punish you."

"As if you'd let him," Jack said, though he was really looking for reassurance.

Pitch brushed his lips against his cheek in comfort. "True. I'm amazed that they let you even bring your staff into the throne room. Although I suppose they couldn't have known it was a weapon."

"Can't bring weapons into a king's court?"

"Not usually, no," Pitch said with a little smile that made Jack redden for no reason. He loved this spirit so much.

There was a sharp knock at the entrance. One of the guards. Jack ripped his hands out of Pitch's, but the tengu didn't look the least bit interested in whatever was going on between them.

"Our lord wishes to speak with you."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Happy New Year! Some nerdage in this chapter. Jack's got some issues.


	3. Set This in Motion, Please

**Set This in Motion, Please**

On the way back to the throne room, Pitch disappeared. Jack paid no mind to that. However, he did notice with a growing sense of worry that the Guardians were nowhere in sight when they reached the doors. Honestly, walking into the house of a spirit he had insulted with rash actions was not on the top of his to-do list.

_Thanks, guys. Loads._

He stepped into the throne room alone.

It was completely empty. No guards. His escorts weren't even staying, because the doors closed behind him immediately. Even more bizarre was the fact that the screen was raised. The low platform it covered stretched back into a tunnel which disappeared further into the mountain. As Jack approached, he saw a cushion on the platform, most likely where the king had sat. So where in the world—

A soft swish of robes from somewhere down the tunnel made him take a step back. His foot landed in a puddle, and he looked down. Blood.

"There you are."

Bile rose in his throat as he glared at the figure which appeared before him, his temper rising again. The tengu was in his natural form: his head was that of a crow, and although his grey feathers signaled his age, they were glossy, and his form was far from frail. His wings were wide and powerful, and Jack wondered what would happen to him if he froze a couple of those feathers, or even his beak, because he was seriously considering it now.

"Where's Maro?" he snarled.

King Sojobo cocked his head, then glanced down at the blood Jack stood in. Blinking in understanding, he said, "I sent him to the infirmary after we talked. While your Guardian friends are very skilled with their magic and such, natural healing is much better for that foolish hatchling. And I believe you might have undone some of their work by throwing yourself at him."

Jack's unconsciously strong grip on his staff loosened considerably. "O-oh. You…"

It was very odd, seeing the birdman _smile_. "Tea?"

"Um…" Jack just took a few steps forward before looking down at his feet. "I wouldn't want to dirty your floor." When he looked up again, he saw a black handkerchief being extended to him. Swallowing shamefully, he took it, thinking that perhaps he _might_ have misjudged the monarch. "Thank you."

He sat down on the edge of the platform and wiped his feet clean. This was very strange. He jumped when a tray was placed next to him, and then the tengu king sat on the other side of it. "It's already been prepared for me. I'm afraid I fell ill a little while ago, so my attendant has been putting honey in it. Do you mind?"

"Oh, no," Jack said abashedly, feeling worse than ever. "I don't mind."

_God, I'm such a dick._

When that warm cup was set in his hand, he wondered if it was too late to crawl further into the mountain and die. When he sipped the sweet drink, generously shared, he thought he might drop to the floor and start groveling.

"I'm sorry."

Sojobo chuckled at the whispered apology. "Nay, Jack Frost. I am not cross with you. I have learned over the centuries to be lenient with guests who enter my kingdom. They do not know our ways. Although you might be more familiar with them than you think."

"Pardon?" Jack replied weakly after taking another sip of what he decided to call Guilt Tea.

"I have already forgiven you," Sojobo said. "However, if you want to make it up to me, talk to me in my home tongue." At Jack's surprised look, he continued, "It's nice hearing foreigners speak in Japanese. They usually do that out of respect for the land and culture when they visit me."

Jack quickly switched to the language with ease. "I'd be glad to talk like this! But, um, how did you know I could?"

The king gave him an odd look. "When you entered the throne room, it was all we spoke in. Your Guardian friends did not understand a word, but you certainly did, and responded in the same language. Did you not realize this?"

Jack thought about it and blushed with embarrassment, because he _had_ done that. "Sorry. I…right."

"Why do you apologize? It was impressive. How did you learn?"

Jack rubbed his feet together. They were still stained with dried blood. "You pick things up over the years."

"Do you speak any other languages?"

"A couple," he admitted, though it was certainly more than _just_ a couple. "Sir…why did you want to see me?"

Sojobo drank deeply from his cup and glanced at the ceiling. "I simply wanted to hear your side of the story."

"Would it make a difference?"

"Every side does. I have heard Maro's side. None of his brethren have been brave enough to step forward, thought he is not ready to relinquish their names just yet. And your friends have told me a bit. But what do you have to say on the matter?"

Jack shrugged. What was there to say? It was pretty self-explanatory. "Maro joined an alchemist, Faust, because he promised him power that would get rid of the humans encroaching on these lands. Some of your other subjects thought he was brave and decided to follow him. Maro didn't make them do anything."

Sojobo had an amused twinkle in his eye, not unlike North. "I'm aware of that."

"But you blamed him for—"

"There are words, and then there are _words_, if you understand my meaning," the king said patiently. "Go on."

"Well, I don't know about the battles that were going on. I was never involved in that, except for one when they attacked North's home. But sometime after that, Maro tried to…kill me. But he didn't succeed."

The tengu laughed brightly. "Obviously not."

Jack had that nagging feeling _again_ that he really was too quick to judge. Really quick. "After I subdued him, we got to talking. And I guess…I don't know. He came around again another day and we talked some more, and I convinced him that this wasn't the way to go. He actually led us to Faust later on so we could stop him."

Sojobo nodded, apparently satisfied. "His heart was in the right place, but he did go about it incorrectly. I suppose that was my fault. If only I had…" He fell into deep thought.

Jack finished his tea and set the cup on the tray. "Um. Your Majesty. Is that all you wanted to hear from me?"

Sojobo gave himself a quick shake, feathers ruffling. "In a way. I must admit, Jack Frost, I feel as though this _is_ my fault. Had I been more attentive to the needs of my people, I could have prevented this. And if I had listened to _him_…"

"Sir?"

The tengu king suddenly straightened gravely. Jack shuddered when those black eyes stared straight into his own.

"I will tell you this now, Jack Frost: You are not out of danger."

"Yeah, I know," he snorted. "We still have to find the guy who put Faust up to this."

"You do not understand. It only just occurred to me. Before your troubles with the alchemist began, I was approached by a spirit from a foreign land who said he had an idea. He could help my people, he told me, and his plan involved Pitch Black."

Jack felt his heart constrict. "W-what?"

"He made no threats. In fact, he seemed quite sincere. He said he understood what my subjects were going through. But he was here on someone else's business, requesting my aid."

"Did you know him? What did he look like?"

Sojobo shook his head. "I did not recognize him. He was cloaked."

Jack gripped his knees. _How convenient._

"I knew he was a very powerful spirit by his magic. He simply walked into my throne room without stirring the alarm. He did something to my guards. They did not remember ever having seen him pass. But he did not come to harm anyone. He merely wanted to talk."

_Mind powers?_ Jack thought. An ugly notion struck him. The dark elven king, Fuinor, had said that Faust's mind was being protected by another, which made him resistant to certain interrogation techniques. Perhaps the one shadowing that mind was the same man who had been here. He stood abruptly. "I think I should go. There's a lot of work to do."

King Sojobo bowed his head slightly. "The guards beyond the door will take you to see Maro before you leave. Your friends are all waiting for you at the edge of Aokigahara." He looked at a corner of the room suddenly with a strange smile. "Almost all of your friends."

Jack looked too and nearly yelped when he saw a miniscule flash of golden eclipses disappear into the darkness. "Oh, shit. Uh, I mean—your Majesty, I am _so_ sorry! I didn't know he would be eavesdropping! I'll talk to him!"

Sojobo waved him to the doors. "The wards wouldn't keep him out anyway. Pitch Black's magic is ancient. He is from before my time. Think nothing of it."

Jack nodded hastily and turned to go, then remembered what little manners he possessed and bowed low to the tengu king. "Thank you for seeing me. And for letting Maro live."

"I can promise you this, Frost. I would never have given that sort of order. That was a foolish move he made in my presence. Tell him that when you see him. He's a brash young bird. Be patient with him, will you?"

Jack nodded hesitantly and exited. When the doors closed behind him, he exhaled shakily and said to one of the guards, "Could you take me to Maro please?"

* * *

Maro the tengu looked much better than Jack had last saw him, but that was mainly because he looked nothing like how he had last seen him.

The tengu was sitting up in his futon in his true form, bird's head, feathers, and the rest. Clean white bandages were wrapped tightly about him, sealing off all wounds. He looked very bashful when Jack entered the private room and openly stared, but quickly got over it when winter spirit said that his natural state looked "freaking awesome".

"Oh," Jack added as an afterthought. "And your king called you an idiot."

Maro smiled weakly. "I got the message, kid."

"How long are you gonna be here?"

"I'm going to stay until I fully heal. Might take some time. And after that, I'll just get back to life." His feathery fingers clenched the thick comforter. "I'll find something to do. As wrong as it was, working with Faust made me feel like I had a purpose in life."

"Hey, you could work on solving the overcrowding problem. Just, minus the idea of getting rid of humans."

"I guess. It's not that I really hate them. I just hate what they do to us." He pulled himself out of the depressing topic. "Didn't know you spoke Japanese."

Jack shrugged and was ready to reply with a witty remark, but the tengu cut him off.

"I'm hardly in any shape to grab him and hold him down or anything, so you can quit glaring at me."

Jack whipped around to scowl at the dark corner of the room, but there was nothing there. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I think he wants to go home," Maro laughed.

Jack sighed. "Right. I guess I'll see you around." He frowned when Maro extended a hand. "What, I don't get a hug?"

"Honestly, I'd like him to not disembowel me while I'm in this weakened state. When I get around to visiting you, then you'll get one."

Jack shook his hand with a small smile. "This is a crappy goodbye, then."

"It's not goodbye. I'll be back in a couple months or something. And even then, we're immortals. We've got years ahead to see each other, if that's what you want."

"It is, because that's what friends do."

That beaked mouth lifted in a grateful grin. "Friends. Right. I'd almost forgotten."

* * *

On the way to the forest, Jack felt a presence lurking behind him and his escorts who walked ahead of him. "You're like a creepy stalker," he said. "No, scratch that. You _are_ a stalker."

Pitch practically materialized at his side. "I figured Sojobo would tell you something important. I also figured that you would forget to mention it to us later, as you seem to have a habit of doing."

Jack elbowed him in the ribs as they stepped out into the sunlight. "What're you going to do with that information? About the mind-control spirit."

"It's not mind control, I think," Pitch muttered. "Something else." He lapsed into thought all the way until they reached the Guardians. North waved to them and opened a portal back to the Workshop with his snow globe. Pitch muttered something to their escorts, who bowed and disappeared back into the forest. "Come."

He pressed his hand to the small of Jack's back and led him through the swirling magic. Jack stepped away from him immediately as soon as Bunny turned to look. They were cutting things a little close.

The Pooka ruffled his hair as Pitch stepped out of the way to converse with the others. "You never told us ya spoke Japanese."

Jack batted his paw away with a laugh. "As everyone keeps reminding me. I didn't realize I'd been doing it until King Sojobo told me later. He's a nice guy."

Bunny shrugged. "Debatable. Where'd you learn?"

It wasn't a matter of where he'd learned. It was a matter of why. Why indeed. And yet, that wasn't anyone's business, was it? It was a personal matter. _Personal, but not important, stupid. That was ages ago._

Still, he wasn't comfortable wish sharing any of that, so he just hook his head. "C'mon, man! I'm Jack Frost! I play with kids all across the globe. Of course I have to pick up some stuff. I'm surprised that you guys haven't learned anything."

Bunny snorted. "It's understandable with me an' North. We have work to do, so we don't have time to interact with the little nippers. Sandy doesn't really talk. He understands feelings, so he talks with sand. And Tooth is constantly on the move, so she doesn't need to learn things. Though I think she knows a little bit of a few languages."

"What about Pitch?"

An annoyed look crossed that furry face. "I dunno about him. Honestly, I couldn't care less. Maybe he knows French or somethin'."

"Guys," Tooth called. They moved closer to the group. "Alright. Based on what Sojobo told us, and what he told you, Jack, we've narrowed down the types of spirits that could be behind it. The list is big, but not too big."

"To be able to shroud the minds of humans is one thing," Pitch explained. "It's easy for creatures who are born with that kind of power. However, to manipulate the minds of other spirits is another matter. We shall have to investigate."

"I'll look into woodland matters," Bunny said.

"I suppose I'll be handling the darker spirits," Pitch added dryly.

"Naturally," Bunny drawled back. They gave each other such annoyed looks that Jack felt the need to push himself between them, even though they hadn't budged.

Tooth held up her hands. "This will take some time. We are out of immediate danger, so don't be frustrated if you don't find the information you're looking for at first."

Pitch snorted and disappeared in a swirl of shadows which suddenly leapt from the floor. Bunny rolled his eyes and opened a tunnel. "Showoff." He jumped down and was gone.

"I have to get back too," Tooth said quickly, darting away. North was already shouting orders to the yetis about bringing production back up to full speed.

Jack turned to Sandy, who beamed back. "Guess it's just you and me."

They drifted out of the skylight and made their way back to America on Sandy's cloud at a breakneck pace. Jack sat and dug his toes into the warm sand as the chilly winds whipped past his face. "This is crazy. You'd think we'd be done with all of this by now. How hard is it to find out who did this?"

Sandy threw up an image of Faust and sliced gently through it.

"So once we break him, we can find our guy?"

Sandy gave him a thumbs-up.

"It's gonna be difficult, then. I guess we just have to rely on Fuinor." He sat up suddenly. "Hey, couldn't you do it? You're into the whole mind thing with the dreams. You could access—"

Sandy was already shaking his head, and tossed up a few more symbols.

"You've already tried? Crud. Well, if you couldn't do it, I guess Pitch can't either. But it's okay because we're out of danger for right now, right?"

The look he received from the Guardian of Dreams was hopeful, but not as reassuring.

* * *

Jack touched down at his pond and waved to Sandy, who returned the gesture and went off to get back to work. Jack waited until he was completely gone before taking a stroll over the grassy ridge to Pitch's lair.

Naturally, as his luck would have it, it all went to hell as soon as he put his foot in that damn hole.

Pain lanced up his leg, and he nearly shrieked when he saw black Fearlings sinking little claws into his pale skin. He tried to shake them off, but his struggle only made them dig deeper. Before he could point his staff to freeze them off, they tugged him down into the tunnel. As he shot down further, he twisted, throwing his free hand out, trying to grab onto any crevice he could that was nearby to slow his momentum, but he only received a large gash on his palm when he nearly caught hold of a jutting stone.

When he reached the open cavern, he was horrified to find that the darkness Pitch usually had such a good control over was roaring in full force. This was a frighteningly familiar scene. The Fearlings and Nightmare Men prowled the walls, screeching their disturbance, lashing their heads this way and that as though they were anxiously searching for something. Jack didn't give a damn about that. He just wanted these things out of his leg.

"_Got you_," he heard someone snarl from a few feet away. He jumped when Pitch rose from the wall, golden eyes ablaze, but when the shade saw who his captive was, a startling change came over his face.

He grew frighteningly pale and froze, as though he could not believe that it was Jack Frost he was staring at. The little leeches attached to Jack's leg began to sink their teeth in, and he gasped a little. That small, insignificant sound did nothing to make the Nightmare King move. It was as though he were rooted to the stone, unable to comprehend.

Jack tried to bring life back into him. "Pitch! _Pitch Black!_ I could use some help here!"

And yet if anything, the darkness roared even louder in his ears and the movements of the creatures slinking about the walls grew even more erratic, like caged beasts just looking for something to dive into. As a matter of fact, whatever was in his leg was diving deeper into his flesh, and that was the most terrifying thing of all.

He could _feel_ it. Could feel evil slinking through his skin, mixing into his blood—and it was trying to move in further. The pain wasn't what registered with him. It was the wild fear he felt, and he felt a ripping scream clawing at his throat. He was scared, _so scared_, and yet he somehow knew that if he opened his mouth, if he vocalized his fear, it would all end for him.

So he bit his cheek, tasted blood, and did not say a word until he had his voice under control.

"Pi…Pitch."

He had to whisper. His voice trembled, but it was enough.

Light returned to the Boogeyman's eyes. Movement returned to his limbs. And sound returned to his mouth, for he gave shouted something as he surged forward, although Jack couldn't hear it. His minions parted beneath his feet, but he only focused on Jack, which was good, wasn't it? However, the shade shouted something again. Jack thought it was his name, but those ashen lips were not forming those syllables.

Pitch saw Jack, and yet Jack had a feeling that Pitch wasn't _seeing_ him as Jack.

Dual eclipses burned as the Lord of Shadows reached out and deftly ripped the Fearlings from him.

It hurt like hellfire. It was as though someone had laced hot threads through his veins and sinew, and had suddenly yanked them all out. It churned his stomach, but in a good way, because the evil was leaving him. Jack swallowed his pained noise and calmly forced himself to breathe. Something was wrong with Pitch, but he could take it in stride. The man was obviously going through a moment. It was forgivable.

When they locked eyes, that glazed look Pitch had been giving him suddenly disappeared. Jack had a feeling that he was being seen as himself at last. It was a relief.

"I'm sorry."

He almost missed the whisper because arms suddenly wrapped around him and he was pressed so tightly to the shade's chest that he could hardly breathe.

"Forgive me, Jack—oh, please forgive me!"

Jack put his arms around Pitch's waist reassuringly, but he was completely lost. What was going on here? After a few seconds, he realized that the lair had gone silent. He peeked out and saw that everything was calm. The evil had dispersed. He patted Pitch consolingly on the back, trying to be as casual as comforting. This man did not need him freaking out at the moment. "Um. Okay. Okay, buddy. I think we need to talk. This has been a very weird day."

He stretched his legs and felt the cool stone of a bridge beneath his good foot. He touched his injured leg down, but quickly yanked it back up with a hiss because it still _hurt_. Pitch seemed to stir out of his shocked state at the noise and pulled back, gripping Jack's face in his hands.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jack replied, wishing his life could return to its calm state.

"Do you feel any different?"

"What? No, I—"

"Your mind is not cloudy?"

"No! Do you wanna talk about—"

Pitch knelt and examined his leg.

"Hey. Hey, I'm talking to you."

Fingers gently grazed the bleeding wounds which were already healing.

"Really? You're gonna do this now? Look, I'm fine." He reached out and nudged Pitch's temple, prompting in a softer voice, "Hey. Up here, genius."

Pitch paused his inspection and slowly looked up. Then he took Jack's injured hand and pressed his lips to the cut. A shiver crawled slowly up Jack's spine as he felt a hot tongue trace the cut.

"Pitch…"

The heat vanished. "I'm sorry."

"If you're not going to tell me why you're apologizing, then shut up."

A quiet sigh, but Jack saw the way he looked around sharply. "I do not wish to talk here." He rose, a tall shadow, and dropped them through darkness. Jack actually flinched this time and pressed against his companion, so when they landed in the foyer of their English home, Pitch looked down at him, horrified.

"I'm—"

"Hey, I always get a little weird when we shadow travel. It's nothing. Now, you wanna tell me what's wrong?"

No response. Only a wary look.

"Oh my…okay. So you're not going to tell my why you froze back there?"

"…Not now."

Jack didn't know if he wanted to laugh or shout. "Fine. We won't talk about your mental freak out now." Pitch winced. "I'm coming after you later for answers though. Let's talk about why you had maximum security walking around like that, hm? Can you tell me that?"

Looking a little more relieved that he would not be forced to speak of difficult matters now, Pitch cleared his throat. "Someone was there."

Jack twisted wildly, even though they weren't even in the lair anymore. "What, seriously?"

Pitch steered him to the den with a hand gesture, though it was painfully obvious that he was trying not to touch him as they went. "While we were out. I could sense a presence when I returned. It was a dark spirit."

Jack moved out of his reach and flopped down on the couch. Pitch did not join him though. He opted for a stroll around the room, rechecking the paneling on the bookshelves. Jack watched him for a second before huffing in frustration. "Hey! Stop zoning out! I can smell your brain frying. You're thinking too much. So come here and talk to me. Don't try to solve this alone."

Pitch did not stop moving. "There's nothing to solve. I sensed the spirit's energy all over the lair. It wasn't malicious though. It was…curious."

"What do you mean?"

He finally came to sit on the couch, but it was obvious that he was leaving a good deal of space between them on purpose. "What do you mean, what do I mean? The spirit was wandering about my home…looking for something. It even tried to breech the tunnels, trying to find what lay beyond, so I sent the Fearlings loose to see if they could find anything out of place."

"And what _does_ lay beyond in those tunnels?"

Pitch gave him a pitying smile that made him feel like a child. "I'll not explain the complexities of the ancient magic I bind my home with. You'd fall asleep on me."

"No fair." Jack rolled over until he straddled him, grinning mischievously. Pitch was tense though and kept his hands pressed to the back of the couch.

"Jack—"

The young spirit scowled and tried to grab those skittish fingers, but he was expertly avoided. "What the hell."

By God, the man was looking away with pure _guilt_. "I shouldn't be…"

Jack suddenly snatched up his hands and had their fingers tangled tightly before he could react. "Why would I not want you to touch me with these hands? Hm? These hands did not attack me back there. Those little creeps did. And that was because you sent them out to do a job anyway."

"I don't…" He shut up when cold frost spread over his hands. Jack smiled triumphantly.

"It's okay, _okay?_" He waited patiently for Pitch to return the intimate gesture with his shadows, but nothing happened. The shade was not going to do it at all. Jack almost let his impatience get to him, but then he realized that seeing those Fearlings sink into his leg had scared Pitch Black.

_That's new._ He lowered his voice and smoothed his tone. "Okay, Pitch. I get it. I do. It's okay. You don't have to."

The look he received was full of gratitude, as was the kiss.

When he pulled back, he ran his tongue over his lips and nestled a little closer with an expectant gleam in his eye. "Putting all that aside, since there's nothing to do—"

"I should probably start with my investigation," Pitch said immediately. "I don't doubt that the others have already begun as well."

The frost spirit blinked several times before neatly placing his hands in his lap. He frowned and looked—carefully. Pitch Black was not easily distracted in his presence. He could be focused on other things, but he wasn't usually like…this.

_Alright, buddy. You're not going to shut me out. Not after what we've done over the years to get our lives on track with one another._

"I see," he murmured quietly. "So it's a work day. Fine, that's fine." He hoped his emotions conveyed that it was _not_ fine. And apparently they did, if the apologetic look he was getting was anything to go by. "So you just get to slap me around a bit—"

"Now wait just a—"

"—call me an idiot when I was having a perfectly _normal_ reaction when I thought my friend was in danger—"

"You weren't paying attention though—"

"—let your little creepers claw me up…" He cut himself off, because that was going too far. That trapped expression was coming over Pitch's face, and Jack leaned in and kissed it away. "Sorry. That doesn't count. Forgetting that though, now you're gonna go all Lone Ranger on me."

"What?"

"I see how it is." He paused meaningfully for a long while, then started to get up, but suddenly found himself on his back, face framed by Pitch's forearms.

"You dare goad me like this, Frost?" the Nightmare King hissed.

_Hallelujah, yes._

Jack could feel the heat pressing into his thigh and thanked God that Pitch was out of his strange mood, if only for a moment. He turned his head to the side though, deciding to ham it up. "Nope. Get off. You've got work to do. I get it."

"Jack."

"And it doesn't involve me. So go on."

"I have your permission?"

"Yup."

"Alright." And Pitch stood up as though he hadn't been hungry at all to sink his teeth into Jack's skin. Jack squawked indignantly. That bastard was _not_ supposed to call his bluff.

"Wait!"

Pitch glanced down at him smugly. "Don't play games with me. You'll lose."

_Yeah, I see that. I lose to a lot of things. Like to whatever's occupying your mind._ He looked up pleadingly until Pitch lowered himself onto him again. "Sorry."

"I think we've had enough apologies for the day." He pressed his lips to Jack's neck and scraped the skin with sharp teeth, eliciting a slight whimper. "But you must understand that I cannot feel at ease until this matter is fully closed."

Jack was already tugging at Pitch's robe. "You were fine for the past couple of weeks."

"Today has changed my level of comfort. Someone was in my home."

"You've had guests before. Maybe they were looking for you." The hoodie was pulled over his head, almost muffling his words. "Maybe it was Isobel."

A low hiss. "Not this time. And whoever it was, they weren't looking for me. They were…" He struggled to come up with a better description, but Jack could see the toll it was taking on his mind.

As a free spirit, he didn't have to worry about his personal space being invaded. He didn't have a home. Even here, despite the fact that Pitch had offered this house to him, it was never going to be a place Jack could see himself dwelling in. He wanted a domain that he could call his own, like the way the Guardians could. Even Sandy, who did not have a stationary home, had his cloud. So while Jack couldn't relate to how disturbed Pitch must have felt to come home and find that his lair had been searched by a stranger, he at least understood that it would set anyone on edge.

He paused and looked at him. Pitch's ashen face was pale, and as he traced his high cheekbones, the spirit sighed and leaned into the cool touch, glad for the measure of relief. Jack swallowed thickly. "Please don't go at this alone. Please don't. Don't make me sit on the sidelines again like last time when all of you were dealing with Faust. You can tell me anything."

A frown marred his brow, but after a moment, Pitch bowed his head and kissed him softly. His tongue came along to trace Jack's mouth questioningly, and Jack opened, pressing back into the heat with a pretty sigh and a shudder. He felt their hips meet, felt the friction, and when deft fingers began to rob him of his pants, he thought for a moment that everything would be just fine.

Yes, after this, they would nap and then they'd try to find out who had wanted Pitch dead.

_Shit._

Well, it wasn't a pretty thought. Whoever put Faust up to it had obviously wanted him dead. And yet…

Hot hands closed around him and he choked, his mind going blank.

Pitch breathed into his mouth, "Stop thinking."

He completely complied. And yet, as he felt for the edge of Pitch's own pants, the Boogeyman had the nerve to say something that made Jack go cold all over with immediate loneliness:

"I'm going away for a while, Jack."

There was something so final in the declaration that the young spirit couldn't even argue. He could only push hurtfully at his chest with a weak, "Why?"

"Because," Pitch muttered, mouthing at his neck, "there are spirits I must visit whom I do not want you to meet. I must go alone."

"Gee, thanks for not springing it on me so suddenly."

"It was a recent decision."

"How long?"

"Does it matter?"

No, it really didn't. They were immortal. They had an eternity ahead of them. They had gone months before without seeing one another, save for the occasional glimpse in the night zone when they crossed paths in the winter months. But that had been before all of _this_. Before the relationship part of any of this had started.

Pitch took his silence as a yes. "Maybe a few weeks at most. I won't just vanish, if that's what you're worried about. You'll see me around."

"Night zone?" Jack mumbled. His heart was sinking. No. It was cracking, just a bit.

"Yes."

"But I'm assuming that you're going to want me to keep my distance in case you have a friend with you."

"What makes you think—"

Jack kissed him hard. He didn't want to think about this. The past few weeks had been a blur. Had been absolutely perfect. But now it was time to return to reality. "Yeah, okay," he whispered when he pulled back. "It's cool. A few weeks are only a few minutes to me."

"Yet I'm willing to bet you'd miss me in a few minutes," Pitch teased, his hand tightening down between them.

Jack bucked once with a growl. "Then this had better be the best fucking round yet."

It was a joke, but when he looked into Pitch's eyes, he saw that he was being taken seriously. "Yes, of course. I'll try to finish with them as soon as I can. And then I will come home. To _you_."

It was one of the sweetest things he'd ever heard. Still, they were supposed to be doing something productive here. Impatiently, the winter sprite reached down and cupped Pitch through his pants. "Why are these still on?"

Light laughter, a rustle of clothes, and heated kisses followed, and then there was more. So much more. Jack Frost gladly lost himself in it all. The troubles of his world and the worry gnawing at his heart could wait a little longer.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Pitch has issues. Which will be revealed later. Jack speaks many languages. Which will also be revealed later. Although I guess you could say he has a "talented tongue"...

All Star Trek and/or Chris Pine fans should understand _that_ reference. Sorry for the long chapter.


	4. Dream This Way

**Dream This Way**

"What do you think about this one?"

Jack looked up from the cold whorls of frost he was making in the window. "Oh my God. You just don't quit with the fantastical stuff, do you?"

Jamie grinned and turned to look at himself in the hall mirror. He was dressed in his costume for tonight's Halloween party. He had carefully slicked his hair back as neatly as possible. "You shouldn't have made me believe, Jack. If I hadn't met you, and if you hadn't reminded me that what I believed in was all true, I wouldn't be doing this. Heck, I'd probably just dress in black, slap some fake blood on my face, and call it a day."

Jack kicked his legs out so they hung over the window seat. "Yeah, okay, _Legolas_. Look at you! It'd be less embarrassing if you'd dress as me." His sky blue eyes widened with excitement. "Dude. _Dude_, you should go as me! You'll—"

"Inflate your ego?" a muffled voice called from the stairs. "Yeah, that's a great idea."

"Shaddup," Jack drawled. "And just what're you supposed to be? A leprechaun?"

There were loud clomps as Mick made his way down in his costume. "Hardy-har-har. I might be Irish, but I don't stick to my heritage like _that._ Though I _am_ wearing green."

Jack looked and blanched, because it was a rather intimidating sight. "I've seen that character before."

Mick rested a fake blaster on his plastic-armored shoulder. Jack couldn't tell if he was smirking or not because of the helmet obscuring his face. "You need to play video games a little more."

Jack ignored the comment. "What are you?"

"You kidding? Master Chief, bro!"

"I'll tell you what he is," Jamie snorted, checking over his outfit. "A big fanboy."

Mick ripped his helmet off. "I am _not_. My brother is. Was. He said I could have this when he went to college and that was two years ago. Didn't think I'd ever use it, but here I am. And what are you talking about? Look who went and had his costume _imported_."

Jamie crossed his arms. "It's not imported. Tooth knows an elf who was willing to get rid of some clothes he wore as a child."

"Aren't elves really short? That picture you showed me of the ones who work at North's…"

"There's a difference. I'm talking about the real deal. Like Legolas, Drizzt, Arya, you know?"

"Chill, nerd."

"I'm not a nerd! It's not nerdy if it's real. Is it?" He looked to Jack, who shrugged. "Well, whatever. I don't know. She even got me a sweet bow, though it's kind of old and she wouldn't let me have any arrows."

"Smart fairy."

There was a knock on the door and excited voices filtered in through the wood. The others had arrived. Jack rose and stretched his limbs. "I'll get it." When he opened that door, he was nearly attacked by the excited group of his original believers.

"Where's your costume?" Claude asked as they all slipped inside. He straightened his bright orange uniform, the same one his brother was wearing. It looked strangely familiar. Something from one of their animes, Jack thought. "Or are you going as yourself?"

"Nah." The spirit floated over them as they all shuffled into the living room. "Not really my thing. I might drop by, but I make no promises."

"Seriously?" Monty whined, tugging at his collar. Jack recognized the command gold shirt and regulation slacks anywhere. "You should come. This is our first Halloween party with high schoolers. There's a prize for the best costume."

"You'll win at the sci-fi convention," Caleb commented from somewhere in the kitchen. From the sounds coming from there, he was probably rooting around for snacks. "But maybe not at this one. It requires something a little more complicated."

Mick laughed loudly. "I'll be taking first prize tonight, kiddies."

There was a low snort and a warm laugh. "You're no older than us, _Michael_."

He turned, then went red in the face and coughed into his armored arm, mumbling, "I look older at least."

The one who had spoken, Cupcake, smirked triumphantly at having caught his attention. "Problem?"

Jack was practically rolling on the ceiling, too amused by the look on the poor boy's face. He was practically a tomato now. Mick sat down heavily in the armchair and replied slowly, "Er, no. What're you supposed to be?"

"Don't you pay attention in school? I'm a flapper girl. At least I have the decency to recognize that you're from Halo."

"No shi—er…you know Halo?"

"What, a girl can't know her games?"

"No, no! That's great! I like your dress. It's very…pink."

"Like I said. Problem?"

"N-no."

And to top it all off, if what was going on in that corner wasn't hilarious enough, true love was being found in the other where Jamie was commenting on Pippa's matching elf costume. He landed on the window seat behind them and drawled, "Well, lookie here. We've got Legolas and Galadriel."

"Don't be rude," Pippa replied brightly. Her hair had gotten longer over the summer, so there was enough to braid. "We're just elven sentries. And besides, I take my costume parties very seriously. We're gonna get first prize."

The Guardian of Fun couldn't help but take a jab at them. "Maybe there's a prize for the best costumed couple. Then you'd definitely win."

Jamie Bennett marched abruptly to the kitchen, pink in the face, mumbling something about stopping Caleb from eating everything before his mother returned from the grocery store with Sophie. Pippa giggled and settled down next to Jack. "Don't tease him so much or you'll scare him off."

"Ah, I don't think so," Jack disagreed. "He just doesn't like being teased by us. But he'll ask you soon enough."

"Who will?" Cupcake said, suddenly appearing and sitting on his other side.

"He thinks Jamie will," Pippa said.

The girl looked doubtful. "Dunno. He gets pretty embarrassed about this couple stuff. The only thing he doesn't mind us teasing him about is his love for the paranormal and all of that fantasy stuff. And that was _before_ he found out it was real. He's even more deaf to insults now that he's in high school."

Jack sat up straight, eyebrows knitting together. "Is he getting bullied?"

"Hm? Nah. They're just little insults. And Mick's usually around to threaten to smash their noses in if they keep speaking." Was it just him, or did she go a little glassy eyed as she glanced in Mick's direction? "He's nice like that."

Pippa nudged him. "You may be right about Jamie, but it'll take _Mick_ even longer to ask her. She'll have to work at it."

"You guys are only freshmen! Why're you hunting?"

"It's no longer a hunt if the prey is already trapped," Cupcake disagreed.

The things young people picked up these days. But who was he to question it? It was nice to hear them talking about their love lives at least.

"What about you?" Pippa suddenly asked.

He blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. How're you holding up?"

"Holding…oh." Suddenly he didn't want to be sitting between this pair. "I think I shouldn't really be talking about this."

"I think you should," Cupcake said. She patted his arm and went to flirt with Mick. Pippa remained and continued to stare at him piercingly until he sighed despairingly and curled into himself.

"I'm fine. It's just…this is kinda his holiday, you know? Before everything—and I mean everything—I would sometimes take a night walk on this day and I'd see him working his magic on unsuspecting trick-or-treaters. Even you guys. This was the night when he'd skip over the darker stuff and go to that scream-now, laugh-later kind of material. When I saw him do that…"

_When I saw him do that, I thought he was…magnificent. Maybe I had a little crush on him before we even officially met._

He went over that thought again in his head, but decided that he was just kidding himself. He never really liked Pitch before the Guardian incident. The man had always seemed like a cruel troublemaker, so Jack had never appreciated seeing his tall form lurking in the shadows to torment unsuspecting humans. However, on Halloween, he had to always begrudgingly admit that the Boogeyman made frightening people an art form.

"You're getting cloudy-eyed."

He shook his head and coughed. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," she replied. "So where the heck is he?"

"Don't know. I've seen him around here and there. Germany. Ireland. Dominica. Caught the most glimpses of him in America."

"But I'm guessing you guys didn't talk."

"Yeah, no. He was with some unsavory spirits most of the time, and I didn't want to meet them anyway."

"And when he was alone?"

Jack scratched his head. "I…I didn't want to disturb him. I mean, this is a really big problem for him. Someone targeted him. He needs focus so that he doesn't slip up. I don't want to see him hurt. That's why I'm staying out of his way."

She pursed her lips. "Well, I'm not the wisest when it comes to love. Heck, I'm only fourteen. But I do know that it's not right for someone to go at something alone. It's the most obvious thing in the world."

"He won't be alone. I'll be with him. I'm just giving him some to…breathe."

"Have you guys been having problems?"

"No."

"Has he said anything about you being clingy?"

"No, but—"

"Then why do you think he needs space?"

Jack scowled at her. For a kid, she was annoyingly insistent. "It's not space I'm giving him. It's time to work. He's been spending so much time with dark spirits that he probably needs some time alone."

"Or maybe he needs you to remind him that there's a light." Pippa grinned at her own words. "I said something profound, didn't I? Well, hop to it. We've got a party to go to, and you've got a man to catch."

As she flounced away, Jack wondered if taking her words seriously was a good idea. She was only a kid, true, but what she said made some sense. And to be honest, the past two months had been so dull without Pitch around. Not seeing him wasn't the only problem. It was him not being available to Jack for anything, whether it was a quick chat, a brief kiss, or something else.

Without another word, he rose and passed through the wall out to the cool night air. Autumn was a pretty season, and although he loved to bring early frost, that didn't mean he couldn't stall his seasonal joys to admire the pretty leaves. They were dying anyway and deserved one last showy hurrah.

He flew fast on the winds, the landscape rushing by at unnatural speeds. He felt useless once again. It was as though everyone, even the hidden, unknown enemy, was trying to bar him from participating in something greater than himself. Last time, Pitch had told him to stay uninvolved because it would protect him. This time, there wasn't even a good excuse. They simply didn't have any tasks for him.

_Do I really contribute so little to this group?_

The answer was a resounding "yes" in his mind. He was just a seasonal spirit. There was nothing important about him. All of the others had specific tasks they were well-tailored to. And he? He just made pretty ice figures and stopped people from getting to work.

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. He did not know how long he had been flying, nor had he paid attention to where he was going, but when he at last let his eyes focus on the world below, he found himself hovering over none other than Aokigahara. He stared at it for a while before the strains of thin music reached his ears. He followed the sounds to the middle of the forest, then dove down beneath the trees to take a look.

As he expected, the gathering of spirits was already lively. Every year on Halloween, a forest was chosen by spirits to meet at and celebrate the night. There were favorites amongst them, and the Sea of Trees was one. The last time it had been used was perhaps five years ago. Jack settled in a branch and watched as people danced in the middle of the shaded glen. Beyond, a group of tengu provided the music, and all around, a multitude of various beings conversed happily.

"Well, well. Fancy meeting you here."

He looked down and grinned with elation. "Maro!"

The tengu was looking healthier than ever, his eyes gleaming beneath the moonlight which shone through the trees. Jack flew down and gave him the long awaited hug that had been promised two months ago.

"I almost thought you'd forgotten that the party was here, kid," the birdman said, ruffling his hair.

"How could I?" Jack replied. "They really need to change it up, though. They use this forest too much."

"Whatever. How've you been?"

Jack's smile faded a bit. "Alright. I've been bored, but that's nothing I can't handle. It's almost my time to shine anyway!"

"Just don't send any gusts of wind running through here. Makes the mountain cold."

Jack cocked his head curiously. "What've you been doing since you healed up? Still working on that housing situation?"

An odd gleam entered Maro's eyes. "Yeah…there've been ideas of relocating, but you've got to understand that we're pretty traditional. And this is our home. We don't want to just give it up. We want to be connected."

"You guys can go anywhere in the world though. You can just move and then fly back here for a visit."

"It's not the same." And yet Maro didn't look discouraged. There was a look of hope in his gaze as he watched the party goers. "There was one idea…I'm not entirely sure about it. I'd have to talk to him."

"Who?"

"Pitch. I'll catch him when he comes back."

Jack stiffened. "Wait, what? He's here?"

Maro gave him a look. "I saw him a few moments ago. I thought you guys came together."

"Where is he?"

"He went to talk with my king. He looked pretty official too."

Jack shot off without so much as a goodbye, nimbly weaving his way through the thick branches over the heads of the guests until he spotted a familiar flash of gold.

"Pitch!"

The shade turned, eyebrows going up. "Jack?"

The youth practically landed on top of him, flinging his arms around his neck. It was only a second later that he realized that his friends might be about, and he would have jerked away if Pitch hadn't squeezed him slightly in return with a sigh.

"What?" Jack demanded, pulling back to frown. "That's it? That's all I get after two months? A few weeks, you said, and it's just about _November_."

"It's still October somewhere in the world," came the flat reply. He was distracted. He was looking to his left, away from the party, into the trees. No one could see them here.

Jack pushed away and looked at him carefully. The most bizarre thing was that he was in his armor, golden spirals and patterns visible in the thin shafts of light which poked through the canopy. "I…Maro said you're going to see Sojobo?"

"Ah, you saw him then. He's looking healthy."

Why was Pitch so distracted? "Did you find anything out at least?"

Pitch suddenly stiffened at the question and grit his teeth. "Oh, yes. So much."

"Like what?"

An unusually sharp look was thrown his way. "It doesn't concern you."

For a moment, Jack honestly thought it was a joke. He thought that Pitch was just being a bit cranky because maybe today hadn't gone exactly as he'd planned. And yet, the look on his face suggested completely otherwise. There was something darker there, dark and _irritated_, bordering on outrage. He reached out to rest his hand on Pitch's arm, but the man stepped out of his reach, not intentionally, but distractedly.

Anger flooded Jack's throat. "Are you gonna tell me what's up? Or do I have to guess?"

"You would not be able to guess. You could never even _imagine_."

"Then _tell_ me."

Pitch glanced at him. "I have to see someone."

He stalked forward into the trees. Away from the light. Away from the party. Away from Jack.

That was when Jack decided – very rashly – to seek out Maro. It was a bad decision altogether, because when the birdman saw him and smiled, Jack snagged his sleeve and dragged him into the glade for a dance, leaving his staff in a tree.

Maro glanced around nervously. "Um…is there a problem?"

"If you're worried about _him_," Jack spat, "don't be. He's occupied."

Sharp hawk-like eyes regarded him carefully, then he stopped dancing and led the young spirit away from the crowd. When they were shadowed by trees, he patted Jack's shoulder and said, "I think you need to go somewhere and have a bit of fun."

Jack felt his throat close up. He didn't need fun. He needed contact. He missed…

"Was I just imagining everything he felt? Maybe he just…doesn't. He doesn't feel."

The tengu cocked his head and suddenly rapped him upside his white skull. "Get lost, kid. It's too early to be sulking about anything. I don't hang out around depressed spirits. I'll…pursue you honorably. But I will not take advantage of you right now."

Jack tried to glare fiercely at him, but the words were too kind. "You're unusually generous. I thought you'd just steal a kiss or something."

A dry chuckle. "Not this time, kid. Things have changed." Maro continued to shoo him along until he grabbed his staff and flew up and away. He spotted the Guardians mingling with the others in the glade and almost regretted not saying hello, but he felt that perhaps it was time for him to take a break from the spirit realm.

It only took him a few minutes to find the right wind and race back to America, back to Burgess. It was still light out, not even close to darkness yet. There was nothing for him to do though. He didn't even feel like visiting the kids. He headed down to Pitch's lair, and when he came upon the open cavern, he pondered at the silence.

"Hello?"

There wasn't even a whinny from the usual Nightmares.

He went down to the stone ground and poked his head in the long, elegant tunnel where the more homey rooms lay. There wasn't a single sound. He checked the tunnel leading to the house, but all was silent there.

_The hell am I doing?_ he asked himself as he went to a different tunnel and walked in—

Before promptly backing out, because Fearlings and Nightmare Men were guarding it, whispering wretched things in his ears, stoking his fears to their highest potential, reminding him of what could happen if he continued on without accompaniment or permission. Jack promptly checked several other tunnels. They were all guarded, unlike before. Having a visitor had clearly shaken things up.

He flew up to the twinkling globe and sat down next to it, running a pale finger over the golden lights. Then he stretched out on his back with a quick exhale, and curled towards the glow. He could not think of a single thing to do. He was useless, again.

_Useless things should take a nap._

He only closed his eyes for a second.

* * *

"—_ck?_"

_Oh-ho-ho, don't do it, Jackie boy. Don't do it. Isn't that what I told you? Don't do it?_

"_—ack!_"

_I told you to get fucked, but don't stay, or you'll be fucked over. I warned ya. You thought you've been spreading ice, leeching heat, but that ain't it. You're attached, you're stuck, and he will not let go of your heart._

"Jack, I know you're there!"

_Don't you know? He's just holding your heart without a care in the world. Doesn't want you involved anymore, but he'll still use you when it's convenient. Accept it. Juuuuust look at you. Pathetic. He doesn't even wanna shadow you over anymore because then he'll lose his free-spirited toy. You'll just be an empty toy then. You'll be taken over. You'll be consumed. Devoured._

"C'mon! We don't have all night!"

_Mark me, Jack Frost. You will be consumed. There's no way out of this, buddy. Pitch Black doesn't need you. Doesn't need you at all. He can't even say he loves you! Face it, Jackie! You're already dead! The darkness'll eat you alive! Just like—_

"For the love of—_Jack!_"

He awoke with a slight shudder.

"Jack? I know you're down there. Come oooon, the moonlight might disappear."

With a groan, he pushed himself up and stretched his neck. That had been one of the most bizarre dreams he had ever experienced. But was it really a dream? Nothing had actually happened. He'd just been floating in darkness for a long while, and then the voice started whispering things. That mean, nasty part in the back of his skull. It wasn't the first time.

Jamie was still calling him from the entrance, and several more voices joined in. The other children.

Jack rubbed his eyes and thought about what he'd heard in his dream. The voice had told him some of the same things it had said before when he'd been recovering from the Seal of Solomon. Only he hadn't really paid much attention to it at that time. In fact, he'd all but forgotten about it. "I gotta see a shrink."

Shoving both hands into his hoodie pocket, he flew out into the cool night air. The stars were pinpricks in an indigo canvas, and the Man in the Moon's light shone down. His friends were there, out of costume and back in street clothes.

"Mick had to go home," Cupcake explained when he landed.

Jack nodded in a daze and pressed his fingers to the side of his head. He felt lightheaded. "What did you guys want?"

"We wanted to go down to Taylor Street," Claude said.

"What for?"

"Well, we thought we might take a detour down…Hester Lane," finished Caleb.

Jack gave them all a disapproving look. "You know that street's been off limits for decades. Haven't you kids paid attention to your town's history?"

"Of course we have!" Jamie exclaimed. "That's why we want to go."

Monty pushed up his glasses. "M-most of us."

"Pleeeaase?" Pippa begged. "It'll be fun!" A chorus of voices accompanied this.

Jack shook his head. "You'll all be crushed by falling beams if you go into one of those houses. They've been condemned for decades since the fire. I'll be held responsible if one of you gets hurt."

Jamie grasped his arm and shook it. "No you won't. Not by our parents at least. They don't even believe you exist. And that's not even why we want to go! It's Halloween, so there are bound to be spirits wandering around."

Jack rubbed his temple. His head felt empty, as though something had been withdrawn from it. And yet it felt perfectly normal too, like it was supposed to be. In a way, it just seemed like it had been…stretched out. "I don't know, you guys. Going into the woods to look for spirits is one thing. Going to abandoned houses in the middle of the night on Halloween is something entirely different."

"That's why we want you to come with. You can protect us if we actually do run into something."

"What if something's out there that I can't stop?" He paused and slowly closed his mouth. It wasn't like him to doubt his ability in front of the kids. What was wrong with him? "Sorry, guess I slept too long." He glanced up at the white moon in all its radiance. "Really long…okay, I guess we could go. But if I smell anything fishy, we're leaving, got it? And no separating when we go into one of the houses, because that's really stupid. Like, people-always-die-in-movies-that-way stupid. Got it?"

"Got it," Jamie agreed with a triumphant smile while his companions cheered. "Grab your staff and let's go."

"Oka…" Jack's voice died eerily in his throat and he looked down at his empty hands.

His staff? His _staff_. Where was…

The others were already walking away, but Jamie saw him stalling in confusion and asked, "Coming?"

Jack licked his lips. Where the _hell_ was his staff? "I don't have my—"

"It's only a few feet away!" Jamie said. "Just grab it! We're wasting moonlight."

The winter spirit twisted so quickly that he nearly got whiplash. There was his conduit, sticking out of the ground just a few yards from the entrance. He swallowed and walked over, but hesitated to touch it.

"Problem?"

He jumped a little as Jamie suddenly appeared at his side. "N-no."

The boy gave him an exasperated look and went to grab the staff, but Jack seized his wrist suddenly, stopping his fingers.

"Ow! Hey, what's the matter?"

Jack let go immediately. "Crap! I'm so sorry! I…hold on a sec." He extended his fingers, then brushed them lightly against the wood of the staff. All that happened was a slight sparkle of frost spiraling out from the contact point. He grasped it with more confidence and pulled it out of the ground. Small clumps of dirt followed the butt, yet nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was nothing wrong with it. He gave a shaky sigh and spun it. "Okay. I'm sorry, Jamie. I'm just a little on edge."

"Still no leads on who's targeting Pitch?" the boy asked.

"None."

"But you're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure. I just…don't remember leaving it out here. I don't know, maybe the Fearlings stuck it here to screw with me."

The human smiled quietly and lay a hand on his arm in comfort. "You'll be fine. Maybe a good scare is what you need."

Jack laughed as they went to catch up with the group. "If I needed that, I'd just ask…"

Jamie glanced at him when he didn't finish with the expected name. "You need to get your mind off of these things. Let's go have some fun."

Like a young child following a trusted friend, Jack nodded. "Okay." The other children were far ahead, but they kept a leisurely pace up. "I'm surprised that you guys haven't done this sooner. You especially. You love all that paranormal stuff."

Jamie shrugged. "Never gave it much thought. Parents are always telling us to stay away from that street, so we always did, but for some reason, the thought just popped into my head tonight."

_Thoughts pop into my head to,_ Jack thought unhappily. "Really?"

"Yup. I just thought, 'Let's explore Hester Lane', so here we go."

"And you just happened to think of me?"

"Actually, yeah." Jamie's step faltered briefly. "It was kinda weird. We checked the pond, but you weren't there, and we thought you were probably halfway across the world, but then I had another thought. I thought, 'Jackie boy's probably at Pitch's place'. And you were! Intuition, I guess."

Although Jamie had gone on walking and talking, Jack had stopped moving all together. His throat closed up and his vision swam and his hands tightened on his staff. His mouth was ridiculously dry, which is why he had to lick his lips a few times before he rasped, "What did you call me?"

Jamie stopped and turned with raised eyebrows. "Hm? Oh, I dunno. Jackie boy. Nickname or something. That's what I thought at the time, though it was kinda weird. I guess you don't need it. Jack is already a nickname, isn't it? You said your name was Jackson before you became Jack Frost."

He could hear his own breathing fall harshly from his mouth. His heart was beating a warning, and yet it wasn't a warning against this boy. It was against something else.

"Jack?" Jamie looked concerned. "Are you okay? I won't call you that again if you don't like it. It just popped into my head, honest."

Jack motioned him a little closer, and when he was near, he reached out and tilted Jamie's chin up. He took a long look into those innocent brown eyes, and when he was done, he nodded shakily and let go. "Alright. Let's go to Hester Lane."

His friend looked highly concerned when he brushed past him. "Are you okay, Jack? You don't have to come with us."

"No. I do. I really do." He waited for Jamie to come along, then went at a swifter pace to catch up with the kids.

Something was wrong. He knew it from what Jamie had told him and from that nasty voice in the back of his head that had spoken to him in his dreams. He'd thought it was his own mind a while ago simply being pessimistic, but now that he thought about it, that voice had not been there until he'd become involved with Pitch Black. And no one had _ever_ called him "Jackie boy" before.

Oh, something was _very_ wrong, and an icy fear gripped his core as he thought that perhaps the children might be involved.

There was no way he could let them go to that abandoned street alone, because if he did, anything that happened to them would be on his head. With his heart in his throat and power in his hand, he went on.


	5. Guide These Feet

**Guide These Feet**

Hester Lane. Burgess's equivalent to the haunted road which no one travelled down. Jack ran through the history lesson as they walked through the dark to get there. There had been a fire – wasn't it usually a fire? – and an entire street had gone up in a blaze. It had been a particularly dry autumn, and there had been numerous trees running up and down the street, in front lawns, between houses. Naturally, one spark and it all went downhill from there.

Jack had not been there for the start of the fire. He had been in Colorado at the time. But when he had returned, the entire street was engulfed and the fire department wasn't making any progress in putting it out. Casualties had reached five, mostly small children. Jack had dashed into the houses to try to pull kids out, but that had been useless. He could not touch what could not see him. So instead, he did what he'd hoped was the next best thing: he froze stuff.

Cold gusts of wind and chunks of ice and sudden flurries of snow aided the fire department in putting out what was one of the worst disasters in Burgess history. Despite that, the body count had only made it up to seven, though a great deal of others were injured. Everyone thought the sudden presence of winter had been bizarre, perhaps even a bit magical, but thanks to the lives that were saved, no one was ungrateful or wanted to question it much.

It was still a bad week for Jack. He went to every funeral, mourned every lost soul. It was the children over which he was the most heartbroken.

"Jack," Monty said softly, tugging his sleeve. "It was you, wasn't it? The one who cause the ice to appear here fifty years ago? I remember reading about it. Everyone called it a once-in-a-lifetime natural phenomenon, but it wasn't. You did it."

Jack smiled a little, letting the memory fade. "Yeah."

"That was pretty cool of you."

He shrugged. "It was the least I could do. Literally. I'm surprised that you figured that out."

The boy gave him an insulted look through his large glasses. "I actually pay attention in history class."

The winter spirit ruffled his hair. "I know ya do, buddy. You're the brains of this group."

"Guys," Jamie said. "We're here."

They all stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. Across from it was the dead end cul-de-sac, Hester Lane. The sidewalks on that side of the street were lined with a rough wooden fence, and across the actual road was a metal railing with an obvious warning posted on its front. The kids eagerly crossed the empty road, but Jack lingered back. This was too odd.

Jamie wasn't possessed. Jack knew that much at least, and it was a relief. However, the boy had been influenced by something which was leading them all to this street for a reason. By logic, Jack decided as he quickly jogged to catch up with his wards, whoever was causing mischief behind the scenes wanted him to go along with the kids, or else why would Jamie have thought of him out of the blue?

"Guys," he murmured before they crossed the fence, "I'm the oldest in the group, and I'm responsible for all of you. So I need you to listen to me: at the first sign of trouble, we're leaving. I don't care if you've found something cool or you want to take one more picture. We're _leaving_. And we stay in a group at all times, inside a house or out. Do you understand?"

He made each kid look him in the eye and promise, though they were all reluctant to do so. His eyes lingered on Jamie, who gave him a weird look because he was confused as to why he was being singled out.

"Alright then. Let's go."

They squeezed through the gap between one of the ends of the rail and the fence, and from then on, Jack kept his focus completely on his friends. They all walked ahead of him when they were outside, but when they approached the first house to go inside, Jack went first.

It was a little disappointing for Jack, because as they made their way through several houses, nothing struck him as suspicious. There was no creepy chill in the air, no whispering voices. Granted, there were plenty of natural creaks and groans crawling through the floorboards as they ventured over them, but Jack's skin did not tingle. There was no magic, no evil. So why in the world did he still have this sense of foreboding?

"Can we split up now?" Claude asked when they had exited the third house. "Just for a little bit."

"No," Jack said as they crossed the street again to a fourth house. "I will not let you come to harm."

"But nothing's happening! It's gotta be safe," Caleb groaned. "Look, we'll be extra careful when we go upstairs. We won't fall through any holes. We've got flashlights!"

"That makes no difference," Jack replied sternly, hating to be the bad guy in this situation. "Things happen on Halloween night. I don't care what you think you see or don't see. Things lurk about in the dark. Always. Even…" He paused. "Even if you cannot sense it."

_Maybe we're being watched. Maybe…_

"Let's go there."

Heads swiveled in the direction Jamie Bennett was pointing.

There was a circle of houses at the end of the street—the end of the cul-de-sac. And yet, while they all looked to the circle, Jack could see the exact building Jamie was pointing to: the one at the furthest edge of the circle, the house where the fire had started. He looked at the young boy. Looked at him long and hard and said slowly, "We still haven't explored the rest of the street."

Jamie shrugged, arm falling to his side. "We're wasting our time with these other houses if we haven't seen anything yet. There's gotta be something in there. That's where this all began. Isn't there usually something important at the starting place?"

The other kids stared at Jack. After a moment of contemplation, a gust of wind swept down the street. Beyond the houses, he could hear the rustle of dead leaves stirring. Here, all of the trees were either dead or gone.

_This is the worst idea in the history of ideas. But I need to know._

He ran a hand through his snowy locks. "…Okay."

The children cheered and raced for the house, but the winter spirit voiced no command to stop. Instead, he placed a hand on Jamie's shoulder, who had not moved from his position at Jack's side. The boy was trembling. Jack folded him in his arms and patted the back of his head, murmuring quiet words of comfort.

"What's going on, Jack?" Jamie whimpered, clutching at his hoodie with sweaty fingers. "I don't—it's—"

"Let me guess," he said gently. "The idea just popped into your head."

"I'm scared."

Jack hated those words. He hated them because he always felt helpless at first. However, he took a deep breath and sorted his thoughts, and he did not feel so helpless anymore. "It's going to be okay. Something's messing with us tonight, but it will still be fine. It's all in the Halloween spirit."

"Is it Pitch? He's probably being a jerk."

He laughed softly. "No, Pitch wouldn't do something like this. It isn't his style. Don't worry though. Something tells me this isn't really meant to involve you."

"So someone's using me." The hitch in his voice was unmistakable. Jack hugged him tighter.

"You're just guiding me. If you stay with me, I will protect you. I promise. But you need to tell me if you have _any_ random thoughts, anything that doesn't seem ordinary, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Let's go stop our friends before they fall through any floorboards." That put a smile on Jamie's face, and they raced down the street to the looming house. Thankfully, the children were all lingering on the front porch, staring at the door. They shuffled their feet when their missing companions arrived, and Jack asked, "Huh! Not so brave now without me, eh?"

Monty, who stood furthest from the door, scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "We, er, heard a noise inside."

Jack looked up and down the porch at the blackened, rotting wood, and cracked windows. "Sure it wasn't just the wind?"

"Thought so at first," Pippa murmured palely. "But it sounded like a breath of air. You know, like 'haaah'."

Jack went to the door and opened it, ignoring their quiet protests. "That's okay. I'm going in on my own. I need you guys to wait out here, okay?"

"What? No way!"

"That's not fair! We're supposed to be exploring."

"Can't we just—"

"Guys," Jamie snapped. They fell silent and looked at him, hurt. He took a step back, eyes wide, and he apologized immediately. "I'm sorry. Can—can we let him do his thing? And if he gives us the all clear, we can go and look around?" His voice went up in a question, seeking Jack's guidance.

Jack nodded kindly. "Just give me a few minutes. I'll be quick." Before he shut the door behind him, he saw the consoling pats on the back Jamie received from his friends. At least they were okay. He turned his attention to the trashed void which stretched on before him. He could see well enough. There were panels of moonlight on the floor, shedding light on the wrecked interior, and he could hear the kids' voices through the broken windows, so silence didn't ring in his ears.

Still, he could feel something. He looked around. The foyer was small, and there was a small sitting couch next to a broken desk with a melted candelabra on it. Beyond that was a kitchen and a dining room, and off to the side was a living room. He heard a creak from upstairs and floated to the staircase, taking care to not touch the wood. In a way, this place reminded him of Pitch's home in England when he'd first seen it. And yet, here was a place which was not only wrought with neglect, but disaster as well.

"Hello?" Jack murmured softly, reaching the top of the stairs. He was in a lonely hallway with several doors running up and down it. The one at the far end of the hall creaked open, but it seemed only like a gust of wind had done the deed. Jack stared at the door before going to it and entering.

It was a child's room, though he couldn't tell if it once belonged to a boy or a girl. There were no toys, but there was a small bed at one end by a window. Jack did not venture any further.

"_One…two…three…_"

The voice gripped his soul with sorrow. He twisted his head about, searching for its source, but the room was empty. His heart pounded. The voice—it was that of a child, so young and tender, but far too lonely.

"Can I come out, Daddy?"

"Not just yet, sweetheart," a rough voice said at Jack's back. He jumped aside as a pale, ethereal figure walked past him soundlessly. It was a man with a greying beard and thinning hair. His button down shirt was untucked, and he kept folding his hands over one another.

Jack was not very fond of ghosts. He had met them before, and the ones he had met were friendly enough. He'd seen one or two who had not been so kind, but those were incidents past. The reason he did not like ghosts was because they could pass through him. Before his Guardianship, he had found some solace in the fact that other spirits could see him, could touch him. However, ghosts had the unhappy tendency to pass not only through humans, but through spirits as well.

While they did not leave Jack with such a hollow feeling as children did when they walked through him, they were cold. It did not matter that he was a frost spirit. When a ghost passed through him on rare occasion, it was not his flesh which was chilled, but his soul. Luckily, he had not touched this one.

"Excuse me," he said warily. "Could you help me?"

The translucent man turned and looked him over. When he spoke, his voice was just as low and kind as it was when he had spoken to the unseen child. "Hello, young Guardian."

Jack looked around the room again. "Um…could you tell me why I'm here?"

The ghost laced his fingers together. "What makes you think you should be here?"

"I have a feeling I'm supposed to be here. Someone has been guiding my friends, but I don't like it. I want it to stop." He paused. "Have you seen anything strange hanging around here? Maybe a spirit that needs to talk with me?"

"Daddy," the child's voice mumbled from somewhere. "Can I come out now?"

"No, dear," the man replied gently. "Not yet." To Jack, he said, "Do you know what happened here?"

"Know? I remember. I was here." He realized with a jolt that this man was one of the unfortunate victims of the fire. "My God. Sir, I am so sorry—"

"What do you apologize for?"

"For…for not being here soon enough! For not being able to…that child…"

"She is my daughter."

Jack shrank back on himself, despite the lack of harshness in the dead father's words. "I wish I could have done more. Please, I'm—"

"You apologize too much for wrongs you have not done," came the laughing reply. "You could not do more than what you did that day. It was too late for us by then anyway. But that is hardly the point at the moment."

Ah, yes. Wasn't he supposed to be here for a reason? He was here for _something_. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I don't know if you have an answer for me, but I just need to know if I'm supposed to be here for a reason."

"You are," the man said after a moment, going to the closet in the corner of the room and knocking softly on the door. "Come here, dear."

There was a soft shuffle from inside, and then a young girl passed through the door and clung to her father's leg with a soft sigh. "I don't like to hide in there, Daddy."

"I know," he replied, voice growing thick with emotion. Jack stood by in uncomfortable silence. "But you hide well. So well."

The Guardian could only guess what had happened on the day of the fire, but he needed to focus on what his purpose was here. "Sir?"

The man gave him a nod. "Yes, there was someone here. A spirit. His presence does not linger, and I did not see him, but my daughter did. Go on, sweetheart. Tell him what you saw."

Jack turned his eyes to the pale girl with dark, stringy hair clinging to her father's leg. "Did you see anyone come through here?"

She ducked her head shyly, but nodded. "He…he was very nice."

At least they now had a gender to go on, Jack thought, though the spirit could have been disguising itself. Either way, he'd have to run with it. "Did he say anything? Give you anything?"

She peeked up at him with big brown eyes that reminded him so much of his lost sister. "Yes."

Jack's throat closed up. "What—what did he give you, hm? Want to tell me?"

A little smile. So innocent. "I can't tell you. He told me to hide it. He said you would play hide-and-seek."

Impatience and longing tore at his heart. He forced himself to nod. "I sure will. Do you remember what he looked like?"

"He was a holy man!" she chirped, eager to please now that she knew he would play a game with her. "He carried a cross with him, and he was very beautiful and pale, almost as pale as me. He had nice eyes. They made me feel warm and safe."

Jack leaned on his staff and thought for a moment. Could he trust a child's description? The "holy man" comment could probably be put to use when he got back to the Guardians. Maybe they could search for spirits who dabbled in religion. But it still didn't make sense. The voice in his head said such nasty things. How could a holy man speak such cruel words, or even use children like that?

"Could you maybe tell me what he sounded like? Maybe anything he said in partic—"

There was a loud thud from downstairs, and he turned so fast that he nearly got whiplash. He shot out of the room and down the stairs, only to find his wards looking sheepishly at a fallen picture frame that had dropped to the floor.

"Sorry," Jamie whispered sheepishly.

"_What_ are you doing in here?" Jack hissed, holding his staff out so they couldn't escape his wrath. "I told you to wait outside!"

"You were taking too long," Cupcake grumbled. "We thought something might have happened."

"Did you hear a struggle?" Jack asked, herding them all towards the door. "Did I scream or anything?"

Claude and Caleb batted him away as he tried to push them out. "C'mon, man," Caleb said. "It's Halloween. We're in _high school_, for God's sake. You're not our guardian."

Jack stepped back immediately, clutching his staff to his chest. He searched for words while they all stared at him. Claude whacked Caleb over the head and stepped forward. "What he means is you're not our parents. You're our friend. You're not responsible for us."

"But I…" Jack cleared his throat. "I, uh, just don't want to see you get hurt. I'm not your _guardian_, but I am _a_ Guardian."

"We're not children."

"Technically, you are. And either way, it wouldn't matter to me. The Guardians protect children, sure, and I do too…but I also want to protect my friends, no matter how old they are." It was slightly embarrassing to say, and he could feel his cheeks burning as they all stood together in the creaking quiet of the house. He was pretty sure he had never admitted the extent of his fondness for these kids, and to do it now when they were past their tenderhearted stage was probably setting him up for ridicule.

However, the wind was nearly knocked out of him as they flung themselves at his cold figure, crowding close to wrap their arms around him all the while laughing delightedly as though they had not aged a day from the time they'd first met him.

"We know you love us, buddy!"

"That was really sweet of you!"

"You're just being repetitive, Jack."

"Guys, give him some space!"

Jack rubbed at his eyes quickly as they all stepped away from him. "I—thanks."

Jamie poked him carefully. "Can we stay in here?"

He sighed. "I guess. But it won't be for long. I'm almost done upstairs. Please, _please_ be careful. Watch where you walk, stay with a buddy, and don't get locked in any rooms. Flashlights on at all times, okay? And please keep it down."

A chorus of confirmations sent him back upstairs. He entered the child's room again, only to find it empty. "Hello?"

For a minute, he thought all the noise downstairs had scared the ghost away, but then the man floated through a wall and went to stand by the window. Jack couldn't hear the kids exploring below, so he figured that they were all doing exactly as he'd asked in order to stay as long as possible. He focused on the ghost. "Sir, where did your daughter go?"

"To spy on your little friends, I suspect," the man replied at length. "Don't worry. She's shy, so she won't reveal herself to them."

"I think they'd love that, actually. But I need to know more about the spirit that was here."

"That's all you'll get out of her, I'm afraid. You know how a child's mind can be. I've already asked her several times. All I can tell you is that he was here earlier today. I saw him leaving, and now not even my daughter will tell me what he gave her."

"Did she tell you anything he said?"

"All he told her was that someone would be stopping by to pick up a gift, which she has hidden somewhere."

"Anything specific?"

"Nothing. Although she said the person who would be coming to get the present would be called 'Jackie boy'."

The Guardian of Fun did not care if the spirit had been seen as a holy man or anything else by that little girl. The name raked chills down his spine, and he could not stand it. It was a harmless label, and yet it reminded him too much of how cruel the little voice in his head was being. He thought of Jamie, and suddenly he did not want to know what the gift was that this spirit had left for him. Anyone who influenced children like that could not be good.

"You know what? I'll come back later. I need to get these kids home." He'd bring another Guardian along next time, preferably when the sun was up. "I hope you two…wait. I remember. Wasn't there a third member of your family? You had a wife, didn't you?"

The ghost turned, eyes wide. "Yes—but I'm surprised that you remembered that."

Jack smiled kindly. "I remember a lot of kids and their families, especially from Burgess. You…you were the Fosters, weren't you? You were Robert, and your wife's name was Cathy."

"Yes," the other breathed, face alight with joy. "You remember us!"

"Sure I do. I used to put good packing snow in front of your mailbox so your daughter would be able to build a big snowman. Her name was…Emily, right?"

There were tears in the late Robert Foster's eyes. "Yes. Yes, she is…was."

"But where's your wife?"

Robert looked around the small room. Although his gaze was slightly more hopeful now, the undercurrent of sorrow lurking behind it was enough to tell Jack that something wasn't right. "The fire started downstairs. We thought Emily was at a friend's house, but she wasn't. When I realized that she was still somewhere inside, I ran back in to get her. I couldn't find her anywhere. And the smoke was so thick."

Jack could practically see it. Could see the father searching frantically for his only treasure. "She was playing hide and seek, wasn't she."

"Yes. By the time I found her in the closet, it was too late. I tried to get the window open, but…well, it wouldn't budge. And then I…I heard Cathy screaming for me downstairs. Somehow, she had gotten the stupid idea to follow me in." He spat the words out with bitterness and rage, but Jack could see how his heart ached for the bravery his wife had shown. "That foolish…tenderhearted woman."

"Why isn't she here with you?" Jack asked softly.

Robert looked at the closet. "A beam fell on her, broke her neck. She died instantly. I couldn't get out, so I pulled Emily into the closet and sat down with her and said we were going to play hide-and-seek. I told her to—to start counting."

Jack could not look at him.

"She passed out from the smoke, thank God. I was not so lucky."

Jack stole a glance at the closet, which now held a new meaning. "They took her body. Cathy's, I mean. I remember that they were working on putting out the other houses first because they knew that whoever was in this house and the next was no longer alive. It took them hours to circle back here."

Robert nodded. "It wasn't hot enough to burn the both of us away, but it was enough to make us unrecognizable. Part of us was mixed in with the ashes, which is why we can be here. When the fire was over, Cathy's body was taken out of the house to be buried. She had been killed in a spot where the flames were not so severe. I hear she was lucky enough to get an open casket funeral."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Aren't we both? Emily has been so lonely. For a time, I thought Cathy might find her way back, but I believe her spirit is too weak to travel here if some part of her remains is not here as well."

Jack looked to the door and scratched his head. "You know…maybe I could come here once in a while and visit. To keep Emily company, you know? I play a mean game of hide-and-seek." He watched Robert carefully, gauging his reaction.

Something odd flashed in the ghost's old eyes. The emotion was gone too quickly for Jack to identify. But then Robert nodded. "If you find time." Jack smiled and put one foot out the door, but Robert suddenly rasped, "Wait!"

The voice was full of hard warning. Jack stilled and listened.

"…Don't let your friends take anything away from this house. Get to them quickly. I think one of them has found…"

Jack didn't need to stay to listen. He was downstairs faster than a shot, and hollered, "We're out of here! Let's go _now!_"

The small foyer was empty, and he panicked when no one responded, but then, one by one, they began to appear. Absolute terror gripped his throat when he came up one short: "Where's Jamie? Monty, I thought you were with him!"

"I-I was!" the boy protested. "But then he said he saw someone around the corner, and I got freaked out!"

"Where did he go?" Jack demanded.

"The basement. He said he saw a…a little girl."

_The basement. Why the hell do they always go to the basement?!_

The frost spirit flew about in a frenzy until he found the open door leading to the lowest level. He did not stop to cautiously check his surroundings. He went down and found Jamie crouched in a corner next to an ethereal figure. "Jamie!"

The little girl gasped and disappeared in a hush of light. Jamie jerked around, hands pressed to his chest. "Jack! You freaked me out!"

Jack wasted no time in seizing him and flying back to the foyer, dumping him on the floor. The kids were all standing near the door, and he was about to snap that they should have gone outside already, but he remembered Robert's words and told them to turn out their pockets. They all did so with confused looks, and Jack asked if they had picked up anything.

"No," Pippa answered for all of them. "But why?"

"You can't take anything out of this house," Jack said hoarsely, itching to leave. "It's…cursed." He didn't know that for certain, but it was enough to make the rest of them squeak with fright and brush themselves off in case they had accidentally caught anything with their clothes. "You're all good? Nothing with you? Then go out and wait on the lawn."

They all filed out one by one. Jack counted them as they went, but after Monty passed him, he turned to look at Jamie, who was standing a few feet back, still clutching his chest. Jack frowned, then held out his hand when he came to the correct conclusion.

Jamie swallowed and opened up his sweater. In Jack's hand, he placed a pristine white object: a skull. Jack nearly dropped the damn thing. Its creepy white grin nearly gave him a heart attack. "Holy—why'd you pick this up? It's probably diseased!"

Jamie wiped his hands slowly on his pants. "I saw a ghost. She said to follow her, and I know you wouldn't have wanted me to, but I thought…" He trailed off, tears welling up in his eyes. "I _thought_ she was safe! But I didn't actually _think_ that. Jack, I—"

Jack caught him up in one arm, keeping the other out so the skull was away from them. "I know. It's okay. Look, we won't come back here. I'll get to the bottom of this. But for now, let's just get out of here."

He guided his friend to the door and stepped out onto the porch with him.

As soon as he was clear of the doorframe, the screaming began.

It was one of the most hideous noises he had ever heard. It was a hoarse, rasping scream scratched at his eardrums, but also at his heart, because it was not simply a noise of fright. It was of pure terror, a scream of a damned soul filled with anguish, unable to maintain even the slightest grip on reality or sanity. Jack dropped the skull to cover his ears and looked back at the house, but could see nothing. The screaming continued, and his eyes slid down to the skull.

The jaw, which had originally been clenched shut, was now wide open. And from that pristine white maw came that hideous scream.

Jack kicked the skull back inside the house without a second thought, and silence smacked down on his head in an instant. A few seconds later, lights appeared in the distance beyond Hester Lane. Dogs were barking, windows were slamming open. Jack spun to check on his group. The kids were all crouched, white faced, hands up to their ears. Every single one of them had unshed tears in their eyes. A few feet away from him, Jamie had taken the same position, pressed up against the rotted porch railing.

Jack stooped and gathered him up quickly, marveling at the fact that he still could despite the boy's age, and brought him down to the other kids. "Are you okay?" he rasped, leaning in close to every one of them to inspect their faces. "Are you hurt? Did that noise do anything to you?"

They all shook their heads, too stunned to speak. A few seconds more, and Jack sat down in the grass with a shaky exhale of relief. They weren't injured. They were in shock. The scream had done nothing more than give them the best scare of their lives. He even laughed a little at the thought of it. That was the point of Halloween, at least.

They all sat there for a good long minute. Then Jack helped each one of them up, brushed them off, and guided them to the street. "It's time to go home."

There were mumbles of assent, and they all stuck so close to him that they had to shuffle down the blacktop at a very sluggish pace. Jack did not look back at that house. The children were his priority now. He would come back in the morning. Maybe.

_Morning's too late, Jackie boy._

His heart skipped a beat, but his pace never faltered.

_The light can't save ya. You're done for now._

Jack Frost urged the children to walk a little faster. Quite frankly, he'd had enough of Hester Lane for centuries.

The cruel voice which did not belong in his head gave a nasty little laugh and fell silent.

* * *

**Author's Note:** In response to a guest's question, I am a girl.


	6. The Bell Takes Its Toll

**The Bell Takes Its Toll**

Sleep did not come to him as easily as it usually did. Granted, he was a spirit, and he did not sleep, as Pitch so often liked to remind him—though Pitch had a habit of drifting off with him when they were done with certain activities.

Still, when Jack wanted to sleep, he slept. But right now, he could not. It was only a few hours before daybreak, and the incident of Hester Lane had happened _many_ hours ago. He had escorted his friends home, double checked that they had all collapsed in their beds and were in deep slumber, and had then returned to his pond to see if he could do the same. He hadn't wanted to go to the lair or the house, because without Pitch there, it felt quite strange. And quite frankly, he was angry at him.

Here he was, though, much later, and he still had yet to drift into unconsciousness. He had nestled himself safely on a large branch, shut his eyes, and tried to clear his mind, but all he could hear was that hideous scream in his ears. He tried to picture peaceful things, even nothingness, but then all he could see behind his eyelids was that grinning skull.

_Damn._ He could hear birds stirring, chirping. _Not how I wanted to spend the night._

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and saw the sky turning pink in the east. So much for sleep. It made him wonder if the other children had dreamed of anything. Did they too have images of the skull in their minds? Did they hear it screaming? Did they even get any sleep? Yes, they did. He had seen all of them sleeping deeply, so there was no harm there.

"Alright," he mumbled, scratching absentmindedly at his chest. "This is pointless." After all, he was not actually tired. He had just wanted to rest for a little while. Maybe it was the location. Perhaps he had grown so used to sleeping in a bed that now a hard tree branch just didn't do the trick.

Yet that was a little ridiculous too, because that branch had been as comfortable as it had always been. He had spent _centuries_ resting in trees. A few months of a soft mattress could not unseat that kind of habit. It was worth a shot, though.

Staff in hand, he slipped down the trunk and walked to the lair. He always liked walking to Pitch's home. It felt nice, gave him time to enjoy the scenery a bit more, even if it was extremely sparse around the entrance. The trees were all but dead there, and the earth was blackened, like nothing had a chance of growing there ever again. Even so, it was the thought that counted. And he rather liked the way it looked. It really suited the Boogeyman.

The inside of the lair was as quiet as ever. There was no patrol lurking, but he was willing to bet that something had been left behind to guard the tunnels as usual. He used his foot to scratch the ankle that the Fearlings had delved into last time, feeling a phantom pain flare up there. He was not eager for a repeat of that.

"Hello?" he called, just out of curiosity.

There was silence for a moment, then an echoing chorus of whinnies. His spirits lifted as a small herd of Nightmares flew from the old corridor which held all of the hospitable rooms of the lair. Onyx led them and tossed her main happily when her hooves hit stone. She nudged Jack with a warm nose, and stood there contentedly as he stroked her. The other Nightmares crowded close for attention, making him smile.

"Haven't seen you all in a while." Pitch had taken them with him when he had disappeared over the past two months. "What've you been up to?" Their nickers brought a smile to his face, and he decided that he didn't want to sleep.

In one quick movement, he leapt onto Onyx's back and pointed his staff to the ceiling. "You guys wanna go flying? You probably did enough of it running around with Pitch, but I'm feeling a little restless."

Onyx reared without warning and dashed out into the early morning air, followed by her herd. Jack laughed joyously and leaned forward to thread his fingers through the warm, shadowy sands comprising her mane. "I'll take that as a yes!

* * *

They returned to Burgess around four in the evening. Jack had gone all around the world several times, lingering in some places, bypassing others. He had waved to Tooth and Sandy in passing, and they had returned the gesture distractedly, but he wanted to focus on flying with the Nightmares.

He had missed the heat.

All day, he had stayed on Onyx's back. He had not dropped off to do a bit of flying with his own power, choosing instead to cling to the black mare and soak in the heat which he had not gotten.

The lingering heat from Pitch Black's half-hearted hug at the Halloween party had dissipated long ago, and he had felt chilled to the core after visiting Hester Lane. The Nightmares were not as warm as Pitch, but they were a decent substitute for the time being. Jack hadn't realized how much he had missed it, because once he was on Onyx, he refused to budge. Not that the hellish beast minded. Quite the contrary; when the other Nightmares began nipping at his heels in an attempt to get him to fly on his own so they could race, she had twisted her head and butted them away.

"You get me," he said happily as they touched down on the lightly frozen surface of his pond. "Thanks for that. I needed it."

Onyx only nuzzled his cheek when he dismounted.

"Good girl. You know where Pitch is?"

Oddly enough, the Nightmares seemed to still for a beat before trotted in place with great agitation, their burning eyes giving him a hesitant message: the Boogeyman sure as hell wasn't anywhere near here at the moment.

Jack frowned. "Why don't I believe you?" He started walking towards the lair, but they neighed disapprovingly and blocked his path. One of them reared up and pawed the air, a sign that she wanted to go flying again. Jack smiled, then flew around them like a shot, racing for the lair. The beasts screamed and raced after him.

He was too fast for them, of course. He entered the main cavern, laughing with pride at his speed, but immediately stopped when he heard the horrible, muffled shouting. He listened to the voice, and realized with great surprise that it was Pitch. He was _here._

_Okay,_ he thought, going to the main corridor. _Maybe I'm not as mad as I was before._ All he wanted was to see the man, if only for a second. The door to the study was closed, but hot light gleamed from under the crack. Pitch's voice rose tumultuously to a livid roar.

"—and if you _dare_ think that you can say that to my face _and leave this room alive, you—_"

Jack knocked quickly and everything went quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Nightmares watching him nervously. They wouldn't even set foot in the corridor. Jack mouthed the word "babies" at them and turned back when the door opened a crack. One golden eclipse peered out at him with incredulity.

"Jack?"

He smiled. "Hey. I thought you might want to…um…go somewhere? I don't know. We haven't—"

"I can't," Pitch snapped. His breath seemed to have quickened at the sight of him, and not in a very good way. He looked…nervous. "I have company." But he opened the door a little wider and stuck his head out to scrutinize Jack's entire figure. "Are you alright?"

The frost spirit soothed a small itch on his chest. "Um…yeah. Something tells me you don't like your company, seeing how you were just yelling at whoever's in there."

Pitch cracked a _very_ thin smile. "I don't like my company, you're right about that. But I can't go anywhere with you right now."

"Oh. Then I can wait. I don't have anythi—" He paused as a muffled voice spoke from within the room. He couldn't make out the words, but they must have struck a nerve in the Nightmare King, because the shade's face darkened with inexplicable fury.

"Jack. Go."

Suddenly he wasn't feeling too cooperative. Someone in that room was bothering Pitch, and he did not like that. "I think I'll stay."

"This is not up for debate." Pitch stepped out, towering above him, and shut the door. "Get out of my home."

His throat felt awfully dry all of a sudden. He worked his jaw for a moment. "Look. I can just go sit in another—"

"I _do not_ want you here right now!"

Jack's hands flew up in defense, his eyes widening. Words formed in his head, but would not leave his mouth. His throat was closing up. As usual. The young spirit could hardly even muster a hateful look as he stalked out of the corridor and left the lair entirely. Outside, he kicked dirt into the hole, though that hardly made a difference, and sat down in the dirt, burying his head in his hands.

"I hate…"

He swallowed the words. He could not say them. He did not mean them.

_Is it me? No. No, you're jumping to conclusions. He's busy…who am I kidding? He's always busy._

Jack fingered his staff quietly. Was he being avoided? Or was Pitch really too busy for him now? His heart itched.

_This is ridiculous. I'm worth more than this. I need to get out of here._

He stood, raking his nails over his heart, and decided that now was the time to find something to amuse himself with. After all, November was a good enough time to sprinkle a few flurries, wasn't it? Maybe he'd run up to the Antarctica afterwards and scream until his throat was raw and the entire landscape was frozen so deeply that it would never thaw, not even if it shot off towards the sun.

He needed to think happy thoughts at the moment. There was too much stupidity going on in his life, and he needed to fend of depression as best he could.

_Get your priorities straight, or else I won't be there when you pull your eyes away from your work._

* * *

He went down to the residential neighborhood and knocked on Jamie's window. The kid wasn't in there, but the bedroom door was open. Just as Jack wondered if he should stick his head in, Sophie passed by in the hall and saw him. She waved enthusiastically and gestured that he could come in. He passed through the window and hugged her when she held out her arms. "Hey, kid! How was last night?"

"Awesome! You wanna see all the candy I got?" She dragged him into her bedroom and let him marvel at the pillowcase of teeth-rotting confections lying on her pink and green bed sheets. "Yeah, I got a lot of it. Mom took me around."

"Good for you," Jack said, taking a seat on her bed. "You gonna share that?"

She beamed at him. "Yeah, okay! But don't eat a lot. I'm saving some for Jamie, because he didn't go trick-or-treating last night."

Jack plucked a chocolate out of the pile, knowing that she had a heart of gold within her chest. "You're a good girl. I think I'll give you a special snow day this year."

Her returning grin was blinding. "You were looking for him anyway, weren't you?"

"Yeah," he sighed, savoring the sweet flavor in his mouth. "I'm bored."

"He's over at Mick's house." She hesitated. "Did something happen last night?"

Jack choked as he swallowed. "Uh…why do you ask?"

She shrugged sweetly, dumping her candy on the bed. "I heard Jamie wake up crying." She stopped categorizing her sweets to look up and glare at him. "Is Pitch giving him bad dreams again?"

"What? No! I mean, I don't think so…is he?" He bit his nail. What business did Pitch have in Burgess? Granted, the man couldn't play favorites, but couldn't he just go to a place where children were already frightened? Then he nearly smacked himself upside the head. This _was_ a place where the children were frightened. He had let them be frightened last night. Well. Accidentally.

"I'm sorry, Soph. Jamie had a little scare last night. If Pitch was here, it was only because Jamie was probably already dreaming about that."

"So Pitch isn't bullying my brother?" she demanded slowly.

Jack chuckled. "No, he is not."

"Good. 'Cause Jamie said Pitch is nice-ish now, but if he's being mean, I'll kick his butt!"

"I'm sure you will!" Jack replied, ruffling her hair. "I'm going to see Jamie now. He's at Mick's, you said?"

"Mm-hm. He said he wanted to ask him about something important, but he wouldn't tell me anything else. Have fun!"

Jack left her to sort her candy and flew down the street to Mick's house. Both of them were in his bedroom. When he poked his head through the window, the pair gave a frightful shout.

"Geez!" Mick heaved, clutching his chest. "What's wrong with you? Halloween's over, man!"

Jack laughed and floated in to sit on a chair. "I guess I've still got some spook in me." He was absolutely ready to ask they wanted to take a nice autumn walk or something—the late sunlight was lighting the trees up in beautiful flaming colors—but one look at both of their faces told him that there was a slim chance of that happening. "What's…wrong?"

Jamie's eyes were red and raw, clear signs that he had been crying and scrubbing the tears away. He could hardly look at Jack. Mick did not have such a red complexion, but was instead as pale as a ghost, and when he looked at the frost spirit, his eyes were questioning and filled with worry. There was a long, awkward silence, and then Jamie stood, mumbling that he was going to use the bathroom. He left, and Jack tucked his legs under him and twisted his fingers round his staff, repeating his question in a much quieter tone.

Mick bit his lip. "Um…Jamie had some…bad dreams last night."

Jack scratched his chest absentmindedly. "Sophie told me. Do you know what it was about? I can talk to Pitch about it. Maybe Sandy can help—"

"No, no. I don't think you'll want to…advertise this." Mick paused for a long moment, looking like a parent struggling to decide how to break unfortunate news to a child, despite his age. "He told me about that skull you found last night."

"Yeah? It was really creepy. You should've been there."

"No, I shouldn't have, and I'm glad I wasn't. Look, he came by today and told me about it, and it sounded really familiar. I was born in America, but my grandmother's from Ireland, and she has a brother who lived and died in England. It's complicated and all, but I called her today and asked her about it."

"Wait, wait! That thing was nothing! I bet it was just some spirit playing a joke on me." He did not believe his own lie though.

Mick looked ill. "That's one sick joke then. I'll get to the point. Have you ever heard of a screaming skull?"

Jack cocked his head. In all his years, he wasn't sure he'd come across the term. He tended not to focus on anything but bringing snow anyway. "Not really…wait, yeah, I think so. I've heard some people in England talk about it maybe a century ago or so. But I tend to focus on kids, not adult, you know?"

"Listen, man. It's…a screaming skull is an ill omen, you see? I mean, not really an omen, not usually. It's more of a thing…"

"A thing?"

"Yeah, like…it's like a supernatural thing. If you take it out of a house, it'll start screaming and stuff, and weird things will happen. Like, poltergeist stuff."

"Okay," the young Guardian said. "But I put it back, so everything's cool now, right?"

"Maybe," Mick said, shrugging erratically. "I mean, usually the thing stops screaming when it's returned to where it was."

"I put it back. So what's the problem? Why'd you call it an ill omen?"

"Uh, yeah, okay, see, it's not usually—I mean, people don't usually die if they take one—I mean, there is the Bettiscombe skull, but…and you know, they're usually only found in England, so it doesn't make sense that one's all the way out here—"

Jack held up a hand faster than he ever had. "Stop. Did you say people _die?_"

"Not _usually_—"

"Usually?"

"_Not_ usually! And screaming skulls are only found in England."

"Then what's got him all riled up?"

"His dreams!" Mick snapped with frustration. He caught himself and put his hands in his lap. "He had a scary dream last night. He told me someone's been putting thoughts into his head…?"

The spirit's breath quickened. Then his blood turned to something colder than ice, and he leaned forward earnestly. "My God…did someone—in his dream—"

Mick was already nodding. "Someone was talking to him in his dream. Kept mentioning you, calling you 'Jackie boy' or something."

Now it was his turn to feel sick. He scratched nervously at his chest and rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "What happened in the dream?"

"He saw you. You weren't wearing your hoodie, and he could see a black spot on your chest. Right here." He put a hand over his heart. "A voice kept whispering in his ear that the curse had been passed, she had done her job, she'd soon have a home, and that there was no way for you to escape your death."

"My death," Jack repeated palely. He turned the information over in his mind for a long minute. "My death." His hand came up to scratch anxiously at his heart, and he froze. Then he set aside his staff, walked to the mirror on the wall, and pulled off his hoodie.

It was faint. Just barely there. But the frightening fact was that it _was_ there. Just a small bruise, barely bigger than a quarter, right over his heart. At first he thought that he might have gotten it in some bizarre way from riding Onyx, but that notion was quickly dashed as he raised his hand to scratch it.

"Don't!" Mick scolded.

Jack paused, then went ahead with it. It really did have a slight burn to it, and he raked his nails across his alabaster skin to relieve it. The gasp which tore from his lips was high-pitched as he saw the spot immediately darken and grow a little bigger.

There was a choked sob from the doorway.

Their heads swiveled to find Jamie standing there, eyes fixed on the black spot. He took another shuddering breath before clenching his teeth and lowering his head. His knees gave out and he curled up in the doorway on the carpeted floor, his shoulders shaking.

Jack knelt by him and placed a hand on his arm, but that only exacerbated the boy's antics.

"I," the Guardian tried to say. "I'm…sorry…"

And yet he knew that his words were meaningless to Jamie Bennett, because the boy had been the one to lead him to Hester Lane on a whim implanted in his mind. He felt responsible for leading Jack to his death.

From his bed, Mick offered quietly, "It could turn out to only be a dream."

Jack felt his spot burn hotly into his chest and knew that a dream was the last thing it had been. With nothing else to do, he pulled his hoodie back on and hugged his first believer.

"I'm immortal."

"That's not going to make a difference," came the wet reply.

"Maybe it won't work on me. Screaming skulls aren't known for killing people, just for ghostly activity." He glanced at Mick to confirm this, and the boy nodded slowly.

"But my dream, Jack."

"Could just be leading you astray."

"No—_no_, it's not!" Jamie hissed, shaking him. His eyes were still red and filled with tears. "Don't you get it? That stupid voice! It led me to Hester Lane. It led me to that house. And then it said you were going to die."

"Who said it can predict the future?"

Jamie was already shaking his head. "I don't want to watch you die. Don't come near me."

It was as though someone had driven an icicle through his heart. "Jamie, you don't—"

"No, I do mean it! Don't come near me! I don't—I can't watch you die. I'll—I'll stop believing in you if I have to. Just don't…" His voice died on his lips and he curled into his friend. "I'm sorry. I don't mean it. I just don't want to watch."

Jack stroked his hair and closed his eyes. "Then I'll just have to make sure I don't die." _Not in front of you._

* * *

The house was just as quiet as it had been before.

Jack looked up at it for a long minute before walking up the porch and pushing his way in. Everything was as it was left last night. There were shoeprints in the layer of dust on the floor made from the kids' shoes as they had explored the place, and none of the objects or furniture had moved.

The only thing missing was the skull.

In all honesty, he was glad that it was not there. He wasn't sure if he would be able to withstand the sight of the wretched thing. In fact, as the door shut behind him with a soft creak, he felt a little nauseous already. He took a few large gulps of dusty air before taking one step forward.

The ghost of Robert Foster appeared before him. He snarled.

"You knew."

Pale eyes slid to the side. "Knew?"

"Yes." Jack's voice trembled, bordering on rage. "You _knew_ that the skull was cursed. You knew—you let me—"

The man did not look the least bit remorseful. "I told you not to allow your friends to take anything from the house. And you ended up taking the skull outside."

Jack swung at him with an outraged roar. "It was _one—fucking—inch!_"

His staff passed through the apparition with ease. "One inch is all it takes."

"No!" Jack gasped, slamming the butt of his conduit on the floor. Spears of ice broke through the floor with a horrendous crack, fanning out until the entire foyer was glistening white. "Skulls—screaming skulls aren't supposed to make you die anyway! They're just supposed to keep screaming and moving things around until you put them back. That's what I was told. So why the _hell_ is _this_ here?"

He yanked up his hoodie. The black spot had grown in size, dark tendrils snaking out through his veins. It itched and there was a dull burn beneath his skin which he scratched it a quick moment later.

"Do you see this? What is this? Is it a disease? How fast will it k…ki…" He choked. "Will it even work on me?"

Robert spread his hands, but it was not in an unknowing gesture. "A screaming skull? No. But…there are curses which can work on spirits."

Jack stared at him. Then he backed up against the door and slid down in the dust and dirt to bury his head in his knees.

_I will die. I will die, and there isn't a thing in the world I can do._

His eyes, to his complete surprise when he looked up, were very dry. "You…you owe me an explanation. I haven't done anything to you, and this is what I get? Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I couldn't save you? Because I'm sorry! I am!" His throat was raspy. So much for going to Antarctica to scream himself hoarse. "I didn't know there was a fire! I-I know I got here too late, but—" He cut himself off when the ghost held up a hand.

The man's eyebrows were knit together in a deep frown, and he was gritting his teeth. "You have done nothing, Jack Frost. It was my own selfishness."

"Can't you just tell me?" Jack pleaded. "I'm sorry for what I did! I'll take it back, I'll try to fix it, just lift the curse—"

"Stop. The curse cannot be lifted."

He felt numb all over. "O-oh."

Robert Foster sat down across from him and folded his hands in front of his mouth. "You need to listen to me. You have every right to be angry at me. You can even seek out revenge."

"How am I supposed to get revenge against a damn ghost? You're already dead."

"There are ways to torment the dead. There are ways."

Jack wondered if he wanted to try it. _After all, I'm going to be joining him soon. Why not just vent on him before I go?_

But then he quietly told himself that he did not want to go out with those kinds of memories in his head. He had faced death before, though he had been rather unprepared for that. He had saved his sister, had given up his life for her, and that was what stuck with him. His good deed had led to his reward: a long life, and beautiful memories, even if only the best memories had happened within the past few years. If he was going to die again, he was going to leave this world by helping someone.

_…I say that now, but will I mean it later?_

"Talk," he mumbled, struggling to keep his voice under control.

Robert nodded. "I said I was selfish. It's true. I wanted my wife back. But my daughter and I were bound to this house because of the emotions we held when we died, and there was no way to get Cathy back, or go to her, because we could not let go."

"There _was_ no way?"

"Yes. I was not lying when I told you that a spirit had come here. He found my daughter and explained that he was going to hide something in the house for a friend to find. I caught him as he was leaving. Emily didn't know that I had. I told him I didn't want any dark objects in my house, and said I was going to get rid of it, but he made a deal with me. He said that if I kept the object in here, he would give me my wife's bones, allowing her ghost to appear here."

Pinpricks of anger were poking holes through his calm façade. "You're already dead. You…you had your chance at life. Why should you—"

"Don't accuse me, boy. You died as well." The retort was like a slap in the face. "Why should you get a second chance at happiness beyond death, while I stay here with my daughter in this rotting house?"

The Guardian of Fun looked away, ashamed at his words. "Shit. I'm sorry. I…yeah. I get it. I'm sorry."

"No harm done," the ghost said dryly, "though you do have a right to be angry. I told the spirit that I would do what he wanted, as long as he also told me what the object was for."

"Which he did," Jack said, feeling his rage come to a boil yet again. "You knew full well what would happen."

"Let me finish. He wanted to leave a cursed object for you to find. After I agreed to it, he placed the curse on a different object: my wife's skull."

Jack's palmed tingled with the memory of holding that wretched thing in his hand. "So that was…?"

"Yes. Her ghost would not appear until the curse on the object was lifted. When you took it out the door, it transferred to you, and the object became a normal screaming skull."

"Yeah, I got that part," the Guardian spat. God, he just couldn't catch a break. "So now I'm going to die, you're going to stay dead, and you and your dead little family will go on haunting the earth to the end of eternity?"

At least the man was starting to look a bit repentant. Jack was beginning to think that the afterlife sucked all emotions related to remorse out of him. "You must listen. This curse—it's not really a curse."

A flicker of hope dared to show itself. "You mean I might not die?"

"I'm not saying that."

"Then fuck you. I don't have to listen to this anymore."

"Jack, that thing on your chest won't kill you. It's a…a marker of sorts."

The restless spirit slowly sat back down and hugged his staff. "What do you mean?"

"I told you, I made my little visitor tell me everything. He told me how the curse works. It marks a key point on your body which will have a hand in your death. In your case, as I've now seen, it's your heart."

_The fucking irony. Well, seeing how Pitch has already been manhandling my heart for the past few months, I'd say I'm pretty close to dead as it is._ He quickly jerked himself away from those thoughts. "So…it's not really a curse, but a prediction?"

"Yes. A premonition, as it were, of your death."

He threw up his hands. "Then I might as well have centuries to live! Hell, I can live with this itching for as long as I need."

Robert was already shaking his head. "No, you will face your death soon. He told me that much. Within a year. That means it could be a year from yesterday. Or it could be tomorrow. Either way, you die. You cannot change that."

He could not process this right now. This was too much. And all this dust floating around was too damn stifling. He stood. "I need to go. I need…I need to go."

Robert watched him solemnly as he opened the door. "If you return, there is a high chance that I will not be here. I am free to wander now that my wife is here."

Jack glanced at him. "Where is she? Come to think of it, where's Emily?"

"The backyard. Cathy is getting reacquainted with the property. It's been decades, you realize. She's been stuck in some godforsaken cemetery all this time."

Jack went outside and flew around to the backyard. Two ethereal figures were chasing each other, laughing beneath the light of the Man in the Moon: the wife and the daughter. Jack waved when they spotted him, and Emily immediately ran to him, her little white feet not making a sound on the grass. "You came back to play!"

A bittersweet pang of loneliness hit him. "Well…"

"We were going to play hide-and-seek," she continued. "Now I have a lot of people to play with! Daddy and Mommy and you."

Jack searched himself for the will to tell her that he had to go, but he could not find it in him. She was dead, and he was going to die, but he still felt that it was his obligation. He stooped and brushed his finger through the air beside her cheek, since trying to touch her would be pointless. "Yes, now we can play hide-and-seek. How about I be it first?"

"Yeah!" Emily paused and frowned at him. "Why are you crying?"

"What?" Jack jerked away and pressed his hand to his cheek. He felt cold tears strike his fingertips. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't even realize."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," he covered up quickly. "Uh, you remember when you were ali…young. Do you remember when you were young, how you would be so tired that you would yawn and start crying for no reason?"

"You mean when I was alive?" she said smartly. "I know I'm dead."

Jack laughed, startled. "Right, sorry. Well, I'm just a little tired, and I yawned before I came back here, and I just started crying."

"Oh. Do you not want to play? You should go take a nap. You need your sleep."

_I don't need sleep. I don't want to sleep. I'll get plenty of that when I'm dead._ "No, I'm okay. Let's play, alright?"

She looked at him with her bright eyes, still full of innocence despite the fact that she had been dead for decades. Then she grinned. "Alright. Mommy! Come on! We have to hide."

Jack stood as she ran and Robert approached. "I'm only sticking around for her."

"I know," the ghost replied, watching his daughter tug Cathy through the rotting walls of the house. "I thank you for that."

"Don't," Jack replied quietly. "You have no idea how much I want to hurt you. God knows I want to. But I can't. I'm still a Guardian of children, and even though she's dead, I still feel responsible for her. Hurting you would only hurt her."

Robert nodded. "You're an admirable boy, Jack."

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, swiping at the tears which were still falling. "Look at where that got me."

Robert started for the house, but then he paused and looked at Jack oddly. "I cannot tell you who placed the skull in the house."

"Of _course_ you can't," came the snide reply.

"I can't tell you. But I can leave you with this: my daughter calls him a holy man because he wears a cross. He does wear a cross, yes. But he is the furthest thing from holy." With that, he disappeared inside the house at the call of his daughter.

Jack clenched his staff, running the information through his head. Did he know a spirit who wore one? Perhaps the spirit looked holy, but was the complete opposite. Maybe he could ask North or—

_Stop. You've got bigger problems. You're a dead man walking. Actually, a double dead man walking. God damn it._

His tears would not stop.

"Ready or not!"

_Definitely not._


	7. Even As I Shatter

**Even As I Shatter**

_Problem, eh? I know how it is. I warned ya, didn't I?_

"Jack. Jack?"

_Shoulda listened to me, Jackie boy._

A gentle shaking began to chase the voice away.

_Hm-hm. Gimme a few days, boy. Then I'll come for you._

Jack awoke with his heart in his throat and a storm in his stomach. He sucked in the crisp night air to keep the bile down. The cold hands resting gently on his shoulders did not register in his head for a few breaths until they tightened. He looked up into vibrant eyes of soul-freeing blue. "Pyotr?"

The genuine winter spirit smiled gently and patted the side of Jack's head. "How've you been?" His accent was as light as ever, and he looked quite healthy. He cut a regal figure beneath the moonlight shining down on Jack's little home. The only difference that Jack noticed was that instead of being dressed in armor, he wore a coat of fur which fell down to his thighs, and a thick belt which held it closed. His boots were heavy, clearly made for stomping snow, and they were decorated with patterns of frost.

Jack wondered if it was normal for winter spirits to dress like that even though they did not feel the cold. He glanced down at his own bare toes and suddenly felt quite shabby beside him. He mumbled shyly, "I've been alright."

Pyotr sat down beside him in the dying grass and folded his hands neatly in his lap. Jack looked at those pristine white hands and remembered how he had nearly broken Pitch's heart by touching them. A flash of regret went through him, but then he remembered that that incident was far in the past, and this was right now.

"Jack?"

He looked up. "Huh?"

Pyotr huffed, though the corners of his lips turned up. "I asked if you know where Pitch is."

For some reason, the question made the blood rush to his face. He coughed once and stammered, "W-what makes you think that I would know?"

"He's your lover, isn't he?"

"Um. Yes?" His voice went up an octave. "Shit. I, uh, never really thought about the label before."

Pyotr laughed. "Well, _do_ you know where he is?"

"No. Did you need to talk to him?"

"Not really." He reached into the depths of his coat pocket and pulled out two envelopes. One was addressed to Pitch Black. The other, to Jack Frost. "My king extends his invitation. In thanks for dealing with Faust."

Jack took the envelopes with surprise. "But didn't you say your king sent _you_ to give _us_ help? You guys weren't having any trouble, were you?"

"No, but Faust would have come for us eventually. You of all people should know how powerful our magic is."

The young Guardian looked out at his pond embarrassedly. "Actually, I don't. I never knew there were others like me, so I don't know how to measure power or strength, or anything else like that. I mean…I'm not an actual winter spirit." Oddly enough, it hurt to admit that.

However, Pyotr clapped him heavily on the shoulder with a very serious look in his eyes. "You _are_ one of us. Never doubt that." He stood and brushed some leaves from his coat. "In any case, those letters are merely formalities. Come by anytime."

Jack nodded as a frosty wind stirred about Pyotr's feet and carried him up. Then the Guardian suddenly realized that he did not know where to go. His voice reached his mouth too late, because Pyotr was gone. It was alright, in any case. The location was probably in the invitations.

Jack looked at the starry sky for a minute, then out at his home. It was about four in the morning, as far as he could tell. He had stayed for a long while at the Fosters' home and had played with Emily until her father said Jack had to go take care of important business. Then he had returned to his pond and slept.

Jack wondered now if the ghost had meant he had a funeral to arrange. Most likely.

_How am I going to tell Pitch?_

An audible whimper slid past his teeth and into the air. He had not thought about that. How was he? When would there be a right time to say it?

He did not realize he was walking to the lair until he stood at the edge of the hole.

_Shit. Shit, shit, no._

He jumped down, staff in one hand, envelopes in the other.

_Bastard'll probably accuse me of being careless and stupid again. And then…_

When he reached the main cavern, he landed on the ledge with the globe and clung to it, chest heaving. "No, no, _no._"

Would the spirit wash his hands clean of him?

_Of course he will. Who wants to keep a fuck toy when they know it's gonna expire, hm?_

Jack had enough common sense to know that that thought was not his own. The voice was dark and delighted and teasing.

"You stay outta my head—"

_I'll have my fun while I still can. You'll be brain dead soon._

"_Shut up!_"

All that filled the air was the sound of his raspy breathing. And, a few seconds later, the _clip-clop_ of hooves. Onyx appeared at his side and nudged him with a soft snort. Jack looped his arms around her neck and wet her sandy mane with his tears. "Hey. Do you know where he is?"

She nickered softly and led him down to the tunnel to the England home.

Jack stood by the door, nodding without reason. "Okay. Okay. Alright." Each whisper brought him closer to sanity, or as close as he could ever get. "Okay."

Onyx whinnied and pranced in place, nudging him. Jack sniffled noisily. "I can't let him see me like this, girl. He'll freak out. Just give me a few."

He stood there for nearly ten minutes, evening out his breathing and drying his eyes. Then he cleared his throat and went through. To his surprise, the bed over the staircase had been moved to the opposite wall, so he walked on without having to crawl over the dusty floor. It was daylight over here in England, and the sun was a bit too cheery for his liking.

He crept down to the foyer and searched the rooms until he came upon the library. The thick curtains were thrown back, flooding the space with brightness. Dust danced mesmerizingly in the air, and Jack was so desperate to keep himself calm that he stared at the little specks for a long while until he heard the sound of a book closing.

"Jack?"

Pitch was leaning forward in his armchair by the unlit fireplace, dual eclipses wide and bright. His usual robe was gone, and he was clad in a black shirt with loose sleeves. Long, elegant legs dressed in black pants and high boots with golden spirals on them uncrossed themselves. For a moment, Jack thought Pitch was angry at him, judging by the way he suddenly rose and was in front of him in less than a second, but then he felt himself being engulfed in a warm embrace which he had been sorely deprived of.

"_Jack_."

Jack tossed the staff and the invitations away and flung his weight forward. Pitch hardly staggered from the force and pressed their mouths together immediately, running his tongue over frosty lips.

_Stop,_ Jack told himself. _Stop and tell him._

Yet something refused to allow him to pry his limbs away, and he sucked on Pitch's tongue with fervor. He had not touched this man so intimately in months, and he'd be damned if he let something so insignificant as a silly voice and a curse take that away from him.

_I'm downsizing the fucking problem! Stop it! He needs to know!_

"Jack," Pitch murmured as they backed up against the door. "Your emotions—I taste—are you alright?"

Jack didn't know where the bout of fear came from, but it dug its wretched black claws into his heart and refused to let go until he found a way to allay the Nightmare King's worries.

"Jack," Pitch said again, this time more urgently. He pulled back when Jack did not respond. "You're scared. What's the problem?"

He was already shaking his head. "The problem is down _here_—" he guided Pitch's hand to the firm bulge in the front of his pants, "and you're not helping by not kissing. So." He reached up for another kiss, but Pitch gently pushed his hands away.

"You're not being truthful with me. If you don't—"

"What?" Jack snapped. "If I don't, you'll stop and force me to sit down and talk about it? Okay. Here's my problem, Pitch. You left me, and you said it was only going to be a couple weeks, but _fuck_, it was months! And then you get back and you're still too busy for me! You push me away on Halloween, then you tell me to get the hell out of the lair because you don't want me to see what kind of company you keep."

Pitch just stared at him, and Jack couldn't tell if the man believed him or not. "Then why are you scared?"

He didn't miss a beat, because it was easy to tell part of the truth. "I'm scared because I think you won't let me have this. I'm scared that you didn't miss me at all while you were gone, and that you probably think that I'm clingy or something now that I'm desperate to get in your pants at the moment, when it's not even _that._ I just want to spend some time with y—"

Pitch kissed him very carefully, making sure to be thorough when his lips parted with a slight sigh. Jack didn't realize he had been crying until he tasted his own tears.

"I'm sorry."

Ashen lips breathed the words against his cheek and slowly made a trail down to his neck.

"If you think I did not miss you…well."

Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew Pitch had missed him fiercely. But he had to ramble to keep himself from saying what was really on his mind. Or in it.

"Jack, I am yours now. You know that."

"Really?" he said, threading their fingers together with little effort. "Then will you do this?" He pushed frost over the shade's skin. "Will you tell me that you love me in this way?"

Pitch's mouth hesitated at his collarbone. "I…please, I can't right now."

To his own surprise, he was not very annoyed by that. "Alright. That's fine."

"Do you mean that?"

"I do." And apparently Pitch could taste the honesty behind that, because he sucked a pretty red spot right on his alabaster skin. "Shit, man. I can't—_haaa_."

"I will spend as much time with you as you like. As I said, I'm yours. My time is yours."

Jack managed a laugh. "And your body?"

His deep, throaty chuckle sent vibrations through his body and sent the rest of his blood rushing south. "My body is yours too, if you want."

"Uh, yeah—I want."

"Is that what you want right now?"

_Yeah, what _do_ you want, hm? Thought you were gonna tell him. Gonna tell him his little fuck buddy's not gonna be here in a little while. Won't be long now, kid!_

"Fuck me," Jack gasped, managing to keep a terrified scream from getting out. That little voice frightened him to no end, especially now that it was commenting more frequently. He was so scared—there was no way Pitch could mistake the emotion. "Fuck me into this door like I was going to die tomorrow."

Jack felt the way Pitch froze for a moment. However, if the Boogeyman sensed the truth, he did not mention it, because his fingers deftly unbuttoned Jack's fly and tugged his pants down to his thighs. Jack kicked them off with some difficulty and watched Pitch toe off his boots. There was something ridiculously arousing about watching the king undress. His pants slid away and were kicked across the floor. His shirt was slowly dragged off and tossed onto a squat bookcase.

Long fingers reached out and tugged at Jack's collar as Pitch crowded him against the wood, their members barely brushing. "Don't forget this."

The Guardian of Fun tossed him a sideways glance, gripping the hem of his hoodie, and began to pull upwards.

_Sure you wanna do that, Jackie boy?_

Too much. It was too much, and that reminder was unnecessary. His body thrummed with a cocktail of emotions which ranged from excitement to horror. He wanted to be skin against skin entirely, because that was what he loved the most, and yet he could not allow Pitch to see the marker on his heart. As if responding to that, the skin there started to tingle. He managed to resist scratching it by smoothing down his hoodie.

"You know what?" he said slowly, very careful to keep his voice light and teasing. "I'll leave it on. Because you've been away for so long, you don't get to see all of me on the first go. You have to wait."

Pitch laughed, pooling shadows on the floor. "Is that my punishment?"

"Yeah," Jack said with little confidence. "I know it's probably not much, but I can't think of anything else right now because I want you to hurry up!"

Pitch knelt and plucked the usual jar of salve from the shadows, setting it away from their feet. "You know, it is a decent punishment."

"Really?"

He unscrewed the cap and coated his lovely fingers. "Yes, it is. Because, you see, I really do love looking at you, Jack. I prefer to see you as a whole, because you have no idea how you look."

"How I…?" He trailed off breathlessly as Pitch pressed one finger into his entrance, still kneeling. The oil was hot against his walls, and the second finger followed soon after, already familiar with him.

"You have no idea how you look to me when you're spread out," Pitch said, mouthing at his right inner thigh. "Endless white limbs, stretched out on _my_ bed—and you think I didn't miss you?" He sank his teeth into the soft flesh. Jack yelped and almost complained, but then he realized that this was a good distractor from the real issues inside his head, quite literally. And besides, the pleasure followed the pain.

"Sounds like…you just…prefer looking at my body," he breathed.

Pitch lapped at the abused skin, humming. "You think I don't value your mind either? You're a clever boy, Jack. Watching you work your magic on the world is a privilege. And your heart…" He rested his cheek against Jack's thigh and glanced up at him. "I admire that most of all."

"My heart," Jack repeated, feeling the itch. "You love my heart?"

"Naturally," the shade replied, nuzzling his cock and adding a third finger and curling it in. It stroked Jack's prostate teasingly, earning a hitching gasp.

"But—you can't s-say you love me?"

He almost regretted asking because it was a touchy subject. However, Pitch calmly nodded, not at all phased.

"I'll tell you why, one day. Have patience with me."

Jack realized that he was lucky to have this man, because he was being more considerate to him than he deserved. "Alright."

"Good," Pitch said, taking more salve into his other hand and slicking himself up. He removed his fingers from Jack, ignoring his whine, and rose, kissing him again. Jack lost himself in the heady feeling he got when he was given the chance to drown himself in that hot cavern.

Before he could prepare himself, one arm was wrapped around his waist and hoisting him into the air. "Whoa!"

Pitch's laugh was glorious, like starry twilight, and Jack giggled giddily. The noise turned into a gasp as he was pressed against the door. He could feel every groove of the intricate carvings pressing through his sweater, and would have loved if he could feel it on his bare skin, but that was not an option right now.

"You said," Pitch growled against his neck, "to fuck you into this door." He pressed in close and lowered Jack so he could position himself. "So I will."

Jack felt himself slip a little lower and suddenly found himself full of fire. He groaned and gripped Pitch's shoulders, even though the man was still supporting him with one arm. His other hand was on his thigh, urging it up so his legs could eventually wrapped around that dark waist.

The first thrust made him whimper breathlessly. The next made him let go of Pitch so he could yank at his own hair and rest his head against the door. As each thrust grew faster, he scrambled to brace himself. His right hand flew out to grip the edge of the doorframe, his left scratching the door until he found a groove he could dig his nails into. His head hung forward, and his breathing was labored, keeping time with Pitch's hips.

Pitch nudged their foreheads together. "Keep your legs here, okay?" He squeezed Jack's thigh and let go. Jack crossed his ankles, locking himself there. Pitch took the opportunity to shift the winter spirit so he could angle himself differently, and that was when he hit the right spot.

"God_damn_!" Jack snarled, struggling to maintain his nearly nonexistent grip on the surface behind him.

Pitch leaned in and bit his neck. "Just let go. I have you. I'll always have you, if you'll have me."

"That sounds an—_haa_—awful lot like a-_ah_ declaration of love," the Guardian panted breathlessly.

"Then take it as one. Cling to that until the—the day when I can actually say those words. Because you don't know how much I want to say them to you."

Jack laughed and relaxed as best he could, clasping his hands behind Pitch's neck and entrusting his body to him. "That's good. I-I want you to want that."

_He won't be saying it anytime soon, and it'll be too late anyway, kid. Take it while you can._

Tears sprang into his sky blue eyes. He had nearly forgotten. Oh, so close. "More," he rasped.

Pitch licked a stripe down his jaw. "Still not rough enough?"

"Not even close," Jack said, and he meant it. "I can still think. I need you to break me. Make me forget everything, if only for a little while."

"Those are very different requests to me," Pitch said, his free hand sliding around to caress Jack's left buttock. "To _break_ you would be something cruel. It would hurt. It would not be love." He suddenly bit his earlobe and snarled, "It would be a rape of your body and mind, and I will _not_ do that to you."

It was hardly descriptive, but the Nightmare King's voice sounded like the dredges of horrific evils found at the bottom of the blackest lake. It promised a fear Jack would never recover from, and he regretted asking it. Pitch stopped moving altogether, and his voice took on a low, tender lilt.

"However…I could make you _forget_ for a small moment of time. I could make you forget everything that has happened, or will happen, and I could keep you wrapped up in a world where only you and I exist."

"Can you really?" Jack asked in a very small voice.

"I can. But only if you are completely bare to me, which you are not. And we cannot be here. I'd want a proper bed. Only the best."

_You'll be dead before you can ever have that, Jackie b—_

"Why did you stop?" Jack's voice cracked. "I didn't say you could stop moving. Just keep moving."

"Alright," Pitch said, starting up slowly again. Jack wanted to shut that voice out of his head, so he brought down a hand and began to fist himself, trying to focus on the sensation. "Listen to me: tell me when you want me to do that. Make you forget. I can only do it for a short amount of time, but I can still do it. All you have to do is say when."

Jack could hear him, but his breath had grown raspy and harsh, and his muscles clenched as he tried to pull himself up.

Pitch laughed quietly in his ear. "Eager, aren't you?"

Jack wanted to cry—the voice wasn't speaking right now, but whenever it did, it left a dirty feeling in his head, like his mind was a pond and something dirty was trailing through it, leaving a trail of filth and agony. But the hand on his ass suddenly dug into his skin so harshly that he knew he would have bruises there, and he then became all too aware of the pain when Pitch's cock began to slam into him so forcefully that he started scraping against the carvings in the wood behind him.

He lost his voice after that. Or rather, he cried out so roughly that it hurt too much to speak later. He could not think of anything. He could only focus on the sensations. Pleasure, and so much pain. But he loved it, all the way to the end when Pitch released and held him there for a long while, allowing liquid heat to pool in him. Ashen hips stuttered in rhythm until he stopped moving altogether. Jack came not a second later, warm stripes splattering his hoodie and hand.

"Crap," he said hoarsely after the fog had cleared. "I'll ask North for another."

Pitch, whose head was buried in his neck, muttered something that sounded like "no need", and dark shadows came up and circled Jack's waist once or twice. When they dissipated, the mess was gone.

"Still gonna need another," the Guardian laughed weakly, rubbing his throat. "Mine's all sweaty and nasty now."

"Hn," Pitch replied, loosening his grip on Jack's butt and bringing his hand to under his thigh. He lifted Jack and slid out of him. The soft sound of his essence dripping to the floor was lost beneath their heavy breathing. "You can let go now."

Jack leaned forward and hugged him, slowly uncrossing his ankles and letting his legs down. Pitch lowered him so he could stand, but the moment he stopped supporting his weight, Jack's knees buckled and gave out. He would have hit the floor hard had the shade not caught him and helped him sit down.

"Well?"

Jack blinked a few times, then smiled. "What?"

Pitch leaned down to brush their mouths together. The kiss, Jack realized, was Pitch's way of reassuring himself that Jack was okay.

When he sat still and quiet for a moment and searched his head, he realized that he couldn't hear any voices. "You know, you said you couldn't make me forget if you didn't have me in a specific way, but you did a pretty good job there."

Pitch raised an eyebrow. "Did I? I assure you, I can produce much better results."

"Do they come with more bruises?" Jack immediately wanted to retract the statement when Pitch leaned in worriedly. "No, no, it was a joke."

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not in the way you think." He shifted. His ass was sore where he had been grabbed, and his back felt like it had been rubbed raw, but it had kept him sufficiently distracted. "I liked it. Let's do it again sometime."

Pitch ran his fingers lightly down his throat. "You sound awful."

He had the decency to blush. "Gee, I wonder why."

"Why indeed. May I?"

Jack scooted out of the way so Pitch could lean against the door, then situated himself in the space between his legs, reveling in the warmth pressing into his backside. "Pyotr brought me some invitations to go see his king or something."

"You met with that little nuisance?" The Boogeyman didn't sound happy.

"He came to find both of us. You weren't around, so he asked me to deliver one to you." He pointed to the envelopes that had been dropped. "What do you think?"

"I think I don't want you to ever see him again."

Jack turned to nuzzle the warm underside of his jaw. "You can't be jealous of him."

"You put your frost on him," Pitch growled. "Of course I can be jealous. He's even more of a nuisance than your little bird friend. At least Maro knows his place. But Pyotr does not fear me."

"Should he?"

"He should."

"…Should I?"

Pitch looked down at him and considered his reply. "You should be wary. But…know that I will never try to intentionally harm you."

"You've slapped me a couple times."

"_Only_ twice. The first was a cover up because you would not hit me. The second was because I was scared. You were quite—"

"Stupid, yeah, I know, you told me."

"I was going to say rash this time."

Jack shrugged. "So can we go?"

"I don't particularly like the General, but it is rude to ignore a royal summons."

"Who is he, by the way? The king, I mean."

Pitch gave him an odd look. "If you haven't figured out the simple answer, then I shall wait for you to discover it. Anyway, this will not be fun for me. I hate speaking in Russian."

Jack rested his head against Pitch's shoulder and laughed brightly. "Because you don't like North?"

"And the General."

"Whose identity you won't tell me. Thanks. Hey, I can translate, if you want. I'm pretty good with other languages."

"So is Toothiana."

"Really? Bunny said she only knew a few."

"And you believe everything that overgrown rodent says?" Pitch paused. "Toothiana is well-spoken in every language known to humankind. Hundreds of years, and you think Bunnymund would have learned that by now."

"I think he was just distracted," Jack defended.

"Hm." Pitch pressed a lazy kiss to his white locks. It was a simple, unconscious gesture that Jack adored. "I shall speak with him about feeding you false information. And what about you? Why did you learn Japanese?"

Jack's smile wavered. "I had to. I play with kids all around the globe. How lame would it be if I couldn't communicate with them?"

Pitch inhaled calmly. "Your emotions tell me otherwise. Please be more honest with me."

_Might as well, kid!_

He nearly swallowed on his reply.

_I mean, you don't have long. While you're at it, do you plan on tellin' him about your other issue? You know, the one where you d—_

"I thought," Jack choked out, eyes wide, "that the reason they couldn't see me was because I wasn't speaking their language." His vision blurred, his tears mixing all the furniture and bookcases and sunlight together into a warm ball of color. "After I woke up and no one could see me, I thought…shit. I learned as best I could and tried talking to people, but they—they couldn't hear me. I just kept on doing it. I talked and cried and shouted until I couldn't anymore. But nothing worked."

Pitch's arms tightened around him. "I'm sorry."

"What're you apologizing for? It's nothing. It's gone. Kids can see me now. It's great."

_Not for long._

"What's the matter?" Pitch inquired lowly. "You can't pretend nothing is wrong—I can taste it, don't you see? There's fear growing in you again, right now. Why are you crying? Why are you trembling? What are you afraid of?"

_Oh, you'd better be afraid, Jackie boy._

"_Ngh—!_" Jack doubled over, but Pitch went with him, covering him with his body. After a few dry heaves, he managed a sentence: "I don't want to."

"Don't want to what, Jack?" the spirit hummed soothingly.

_Die,_ he thought. Yet he knew couldn't tell this man. Not this man who loved him but could not say it; this man who was jealous for him; this man who treated him so tenderly. Not now. He couldn't.

"I…don't want you to leave me."

"Pardon?"

Jack took several more steadying breaths. "I'm scared because of all of that time you were away. It still freaked me out for some reason. I mean, c'mon. How could I not think you were going to come back less interested in me because you didn't see me for a while? Forget what I said about a couple weeks being a blink of an eye or whatever. It felt like forever—"

"Jack—"

"—and I kinda don't want to go see Pyotr and whoever this king guy is, because you know how I suck with authority figures. I mean, I'm a goddamn mess! I have trust issues! If I screw up, I won't be able to apologize properly, especially if someone starts shouting at me. You know how I get. And what if they don't like me? The other winter spirits. I don't belong there. I wasn't _born_ a winter spirit. The Man in the Moon _made_ me one. I'm just a flake, a copycat. I—"

"_Breathe_, Jack," Pitch tried to say lightly. "Don't make me smack you."

"You hit me and I'll break your fucking hand!" Jack snapped, chest heaving.

Pitch stilled for a moment before tightening his hold on him. "I'm sorry."

"No, no." Jack wanted to sew his mouth shut. "I…don't know why I'm…I know you were joking. I won't do that. Shit, I don't think I even want to go _anywhere_ anymore. There's just too much shit in my head, and Jamie had that goddamn dream about me dying, and—"

"What dream?"

Jack paused and wondered if he could swallow his tongue. No amount of lying could completely cover this up, so he had to word it carefully. "Yeah…because of Halloween and all. He and the kids saw a scary movie. Something with a haunted house. And he dreamed that I died that night, and told me the next morning. I don't want him to think stuff like that. I don't want him to think I'm…leaving."

There was a long moment of silence where he thought that perhaps Pitch had figured it out. He thought the man would rip his hoodie away, see the mark, then demand answers. He thought Pitch would be so furious at him for not telling him, yet so frightened for the future, that he would walk away. Of course, his imagination had the annoying tendency to get away from him sometimes.

"…Pitch?"

Another kiss to the side of his head, this time harder. "Jamie had a dream?"

"Yeah. You can send Onyx over to look if you're really curious." It was a risky invitation, but a necessary one. He had no reason to hide the kids from Pitch's Nightmares. "It's nighttime over there, isn't it? I'm sure he's dreaming about it again. You know kids and their imaginations."

"And you say he saw a movie?"

"Yeah. Why? Something wrong?" _That's good, Jack,_ he told himself. _Turn this around. Put the idea in his head so he doesn't—_

"No, nothing. I'm just surprised. Children his age don't usually have nightmares so easily about films. Not lately anyway. They've become so desensitized. That still doesn't explain why you were in his dreams though."

"I was with him at a costume party that night. That's where he heard about it." The falsehood was just getting more twisted. "Someone recommended it, so he and the gang got together afterwards and watched it. They told me about…screaming skulls, I think they're called?"

"Hm." An ashen hand lazily traced his pale arm. "Are you…alright now?"

Jack exhaled, both in relief and for show. Pitch's suspicion had dropped, it seemed. "Yeah. I'm…sorry. I'll be okay."

"Have you gotten it all out of your system?"

_Not even close. I told you about every other problem _except_ for the one which is sitting right here on my heart._ "I'm sure I'll have more to rant about later, but I won't burden you."

"Please do. I don't mind it at all." The hand on Jack's arm paused for a moment and wrapped gently around it. Warm lips pressed to his cheek this time. "But I do not like hear talk of you dying."

"Neither do I," Jack whispered, wondering when his emotions would get off that stupid, clichéd rollercoaster and just sit the fuck down. "Believe me."

"I do. I simply…Jack Frost, be careful."

"What's the worst that could happen?" he deadpanned.

"This isn't a joke."

"No, no, I know. It's just weird. You must be really serious about this."

"I intend to keep you by my side for at least a few more centuries," Pitch said with a wry smirk, stirring his shadows on the floor. "By the way." He reached into the pool of darkness. "Close your eyes."

Jack did, and felt a cord being looped around his neck. "What's this?"

"This is for you."

Jack opened his eyes and looked down. What fell against the collar of his hoodie was a golden arrowhead. Jack fingered it as Pitch fasted the cord behind him. "Is this—"

"The arrowhead you found. It brought you here. To me."

"Technically, Onyx got me through the Fearlings the first time."

"Must you ruin this? I'm trying to be sentimental. Since I cannot do the other gesture at the moment."

"Oh. _Oh_." Jack twisted and kissed him once, twice, and kept his arms wrapped around his neck. "Okay. I get it."

Pitch looked extremely satisfied. "That arrowhead was forged from light to fight against the darkness. It means…meant…a great deal to me. Look at it as a token of my…" He paused and his eyes grew extremely desperate.

Jack stroked the side of his face softly. "I know what you're trying to say."

Pitch blinked gratefully. "It will keep you safe."

_Nah. It's a worthless little trinket and you know it, boy._

Jack clung to him, a shudder ripping through his body. The voice was stronger. It was clearer. He hated it.

_Enjoy your time while ya still can, Jackie boy. I'm gonna getcha._

"Are you crying?"

Jack nodded. "Course I am."

"What for?"

He sobbed, forever grateful for the way Pitch held him tighter. "B-because I know…I know you love me, no matter what happens."

Pitch sighed. "I wish you wouldn't cry." He turned his head and whispered against Jack's lips, "But I will certainly be here for you, no matter what you say or do. So there's no need for tears."

That just made him cry harder, even as the Nightmare King kissed him tenderly.

_No matter what happens, Pitch, I'll always love you._

Out of fear, Jack Frost began to nurse a very foolish plan. He would not let Pitch see him die. He'd see to it that Pitch would abandon him first.


	8. Unconventionally Irrational

**Unconventionally Irrational**

The day was wasted in a languid manner. The erratically emotional morning was followed by a lazy afternoon in which they gorged themselves on each other, chasing one another about the house and tumbling onto the floor or any piece of nearby furniture that would suit their needs. They had enjoyed themselves thoroughly. Jack made sure of it. Yet he never removed his hoodie.

Pitch would tug suggestively at the collar with his teeth, and his large, warm hands would slide under to caress his cold skin, but Jack would always shake his head and insist that it was a punishment that could not be undone. "Not today, at least."

"Then tomorrow?"

"We'll see."

Jack noticed how Pitch tended to shy away from the arrowhead necklace. Whenever his ashen skin drew too close to the charm, he would hiss lowly under his breath and pull back a bit before resuming whatever he had been doing, but with a bit more of an arch to him, as though he were avoiding the metal.

"Is it bothering you?" Jack asked around two when they were in the den. "Should I not wear it?"

"Nonsense. I want you to wear it. I do not waste my time making junk."

Jack pushed his hair out his eyes and took the necklace off. He rolled the arrowhead between his fingers, then sudden reached for Pitch with it. He saw the man flinch, confirming his suspicions. Yet Pitch did not move out of the way. He was going to allow Jack to touch him.

The winter spirit stopped his hand a good few inches away from his skin. "You're unbelievable. If it hurts, just tell me."

Pitch blinked once, then his shoulders drooped. "I didn't expect you to notice."

"You've got to be kidding me. It was way too obvious." Jack placed the necklace in his hoodie pocket and curled back into Pitch's side. "Why can't you touch it?"

The look he had to analyze was conflicted and ashamed. "It is a…difficult story. One I am not sure I wish to share with you, only because I do not need you to worry about me at the moment."

Jack hated when people hinted at tales, yet decided not to explain them. It was even worse with Pitch because there was a high chance that the reason had something to do with his past, a topic he clearly was not comfortable on delving into. He had to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Then again, wasn't he doing the same?

_No. No, this is…different. It's not the same. His is a personal story from his past. Mine is…just something I'm going to have to deal with._

He lied to himself so horridly that by the end of the day, he was starting to believe himself. This was no big deal. He could get through this. And he would make sure that Pitch would not be hurt by his death.

When ten o' clock hit England and they were dozing off in Pitch's proper bed, Jack decided that it was time for him to get moving. But it was so _warm_ here by the shade's side, and he had the chance to observe Pitch's relaxed face in sleep. Jack reached out and ran his fingers over his high cheekbones, pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and slipped out of bed.

"Going somewhere?" Pitch's voice was rough and low.

"I just want to fly around a bit," Jack said quietly, keeping his voice even. No sense in letting a tremor ruin it for him. "It's hot in here."

"You'd feel better if you lose that ratty thing," Pitch murmured, pointing to his hoodie.

Jack almost did take it off. His hand strayed to the hem and his feet turned him around to face Pitch, as though they were telling him to walk back to that bed, lie down, and forget about the world for a little longer. Forget about that little spot on his chest.

He found the will to ignore the call.

"The hoodie stays on," he replied, perhaps a little harsher than needed. "That's your punishment."

And still, while Pitch gave him a funny look that might have passed for suspicion, he nodded in agreement and _smiled_ at him because he thought Jack was still angry that he had been absent. Which he was, granted, but the Nightmare King was trying to make it up to him, trying to show that he was going to be _here_ for Jack from now on. And Jack was going to throw that back in his face.

"Don't take too long. I'm still awake."

Jack laughed, and his voice almost cracked because he felt tears pushing at his eyes. He had to be careful with that. "You're tired. Go to sleep." Then he really did walk over to Pitch, because he simply could not leave him without one final touch. He reached out and traced spirals into the palm of his hand, then laced their fingers together.

Pitch hummed drowsily as frost bloomed over his dark skin. Jack was torn between laughing and crying, because the lovable bastard looked like a lazy cat, stretched out so lax and trusting on the sheets, effervescent eyes half shrouded. He wanted to bask in his presence—_God_, he wanted to stay. But he…just couldn't.

"Be back in a bit."

He gave his hand a final squeeze and pulled away. Pitch raised his head to watch him go, then lay back and closed his eyes. Jack turned away just in time for his tears to spill freely over. He went out and shut the door softly behind him. He wondered what Pitch was sensing from him. Anguish? Most likely. But hopefully he wouldn't read too much into it.

_Who am I kidding? He can taste everything I'm feeling. He knows I'm up to something. So why the hell is he letting me go?_

He paused, and then answered it for himself.

_Because he trusts me. He loves me that much._

He went on the hunt for his pants and staff. When he had retrieved them from the library, along with his invitation, and was properly dressed again, he went outside and took off for Russia. That was what the invitation said, anyway. He wondered what he would find when he reached the Khamar-Daban mountain range, as instructed by the letter.

He certainly hoped he would find Pyotr.

* * *

"Alright!" he shouted to the howling winds. "Where the hell am I?"

So much for following instructions. He was here, of course, but he did not know _where_ here was. When he had reached Siberia, he had come to the unhappy realization that the location had not been specified. As in, was he supposed to go to the northernmost part of the range, or the southernmost? Or would he be signaled from down below when he flew over?

The letter had been very formal and flowery. It said many nonsensical things about how he had been a great help to Pyotr, when Pyotr had actually been helping him, and how he was to be honored with a visit to the General's kingdom. Not that he knew who the General was. In any case, here he was, passing back and forth over a small portion of the mountain range, and he was not certain how to contact whoever was supposed to be welcoming him.

Eventually, he gave up and landed on a high peak, sinking into the deep snow with a grin. For a moment, his spirits lifted. The voice had not spoken in a while, and here he was about to speak with more frost spirits. God, if only he had learned about this sooner.

The sound of sharp blades being drawn gave him very probably cause to come to a standstill.

"State your name, spirit," someone spat gruffly. The words were in Russian, but the dialect was slightly different from what Jack was used to hearing when he was in Moscow.

He took some relief in the fact that he actually knew that dialect. "I have an invite…?" He slowly lay down his staff without turning around and pulled out his envelope. It was snatched from his hand as soon as he held it out, and there was a great deal of muttering done behind him. Then, after a moment, they grew louder, and he smiled at their words of elation.

"Yes, this is him! I have seen him fly over before!"

"You liar! He never comes here. How can you be—"

"Don't you recognize—"

"Uh, guys?" Jack asked in English. "Is there a problem?"

There was stammering and apologizing, and someone answered in the same language, but with a very heavy accent, "No, no, not at all, sir! We are honored to have you."

"Then, can I turn around?"

"Y-yes!"

Jack chuckled quietly to himself as he picked up his staff and turned. His breath was quickly stolen from him as he lay eyes on three tall, regal figures dressed in decadent white armor and heavy furs. Their hair was perhaps whiter than his own, purer, like fresh snow, and their blue eyes were brighter than the sky up above. They were winter spirits. They were like him.

"Sir?" one asked quietly. "Is everything alright?"

"Wha-? Oh, yeah, yeah! Sorry! I mean, I've only ever seen Pyotr and no one else. I just kinda…want to stare at you all for a little. It's really cool. Is that weird?"

They blushed—they actually blushed. "No, sir, not at all! We are flattered."

Jack had a feeling that he was going to like it here. "Right. How about you take me to wherever you guys live? We can just chat on the way and you can tell me how it works."

There was a lot of bobbing heads and stammering inelegantly before they all took off into the air. Jack watched them sheathe their icy swords. It was interesting that they did not have conduits. And why in the world were they wearing such heavy furs? They were masters of the frosty elements. How could they possibly feel cold?

"So explain something to me," he began, switching back to Russian. "What's with all the warm clothing? Are you cold?"

They exchanged confused looks. "No," one answered in kind. "They are traditional garments. Please, sir, you needn't force yourself to speak in our home tongue for us."

Jack waved off their concerns. "No, it's fine! I like it. Might as well show respect to my hosts right now, since I'm probably going to make a fool of myself later."

"Nonsense! You are well-loved here, Jack Frost. We have always been waiting for you."

He frowned. "Waiting for me? But I never even knew you existed until recently. I always thought I was alone." And in a way, he was alone, because he was not like them. He was who he was due to the Man in the Moon's powers, not through authentic birth.

They all smiled at him pityingly and took him down to a sharp dip between two great peaks. Jack looked around, trying to see through the blistering gusts of snow whipping about. "So do you live inside one of the mountains?"

They laughed, and one guided him forward. "Not quite." He waved a hand, and the furious snow storm dispersed.

Beyond him, high on one of the dual peaks, lay a city. A shining white city of power and spiraling towers and charmingly grand houses, all slick with ice and snow so bright that the glare from the sun nearly blinded Jack. As he and his escorts found a path of tamped down snow to take up to the city, he found that he was quivering with excitement. These were his people, whether he was a genuine winter spirit or not. He was like them, and this could be his home.

_Whoa. Getting' ahead of myself. And I have a home. In Pitch's arms._

He nearly tripped as that thought came into his head, but his companions hardly noticed him falter as they entered within the city limits. What was he thinking? Yes, Pitch said he was always welcome, but that was not an option anymore.

"Can't turn back," he muttered to himself.

"Pardon?"

"Huh? Uh, I said this place is making me think I won't want to ever go back. I mean, seriously, look at all of this! It's beautiful."

His escorts swelled with pride and started to chatter animatedly, pointing out buildings to him. They passed by lovely little houses where more winter spirits were coming in and out of, passing through the streets. There were more men, and there were women who waved to Jack and his companions, and children who raced by, bundled up in little fur cloaks.

The houses were ridiculously detailed, every shingle looking like it was hand carved out of a block of ice and then carefully fitted together. Every doorframe and window was blooming with spiraling patterns of frost, and the bustling centers and market places Jack passed had carvings and statues of ice and stone, each hand crafted and etched out with precision. They took the form of great people, animals, and places. Jack could see a lot of Russian culture in this city, and he wondered if all winter sprites came from this great tundra.

"Excuse me," he asked quietly as they came out of the city and neared a pair of tall doors leading into the mountain peak. "Are there more of us? Of you, I mean? And do they all live here?"

Before they could answer him, the great doors opened and someone called to him. "Jack!"

"Pyotr!" Jack ran and flung himself into his friend's arms. "Hey!" When he looked up, he met Pyotr's startled, then bemused eyes, and heard his escorts whispering with great shock behind him. He quickly let go. "Shit. Um. Was I not supposed to—"

"Nonsense," Pyotr replied, grabbing him in for another hug. "They are simply being foolish. Thank you for bringing him to me. Now I believe you all have somewhere to be."

The trio bowed lowly and left, while Pytor led Jack in through the doors. Jack kept glancing back, frowning, greatly confused. What had he done wrong? Surely it was alright to show affection. And why had they—

"Oh my God, you're a _prince_."

Pyotr blinked, then laughed boisterously. "No, not at all!"

"Then why were they bowing to you?"

"I am no prince, my friend. I simply serve the king. I am his right hand man, in a way."

"Cool." Jack looked around at the tall, echoing corridor with its glistening pillars and woven tapestries.

"I will be honest. I did not expect you so soon. I thought you would come by in a few days."

His heart thudded heavily against his chest. "Right. I thought…I should come by. You know? Early. I just felt like it. So this king of yours…the General? You need to tell me how to conduct myself in front of him so I don't screw up like I did with King Sojobo."

"Sojobo? The tengu king? What have you done now?"

Jack recounted the tale. Pyotr laughed again and clapped him on the shoulder. "Ah, that bird is a kind man." He paused. "Why do you speak to me in my home tongue?"

"Because I just want to. Can you tell me if all winter spirits are from around here? I feel a little left out."

"No. There are many of us. Snow spirits live all across the globe, and they come from many different lands. Even down in the city right now, there are spirits from other lands. You simply have not met them. But this domain is my king's, so the majority of us you see are from around here." He frowned. "I am sorry that you have not encountered us. You have been in this world for centuries, yet you have never laid eyes upon anyone like yourself until I came along?"

"Never. I looked, sometimes. Because none of the humans could see me, I was really loud. I caused a lot of mischief hoping that someone, even a spirit, would pay some attention. And some did. But I never really saw any snow creatures. So I made a lot of storms. And still no one came." He glanced back. "And while I'm thinking about it, those guys seemed really excited to see me. Did you tell them about me?"

"You're a bit of a legend among the snow people, Jack," Pyotr said. "We have always been in awe of you. The humans might not have noticed you, but we certainly did."

His heart squeezed with sudden agony, and he stopped walking. Pyotr turned to look at him, concern knitting his brow. Jack shook his head quickly. "Then why didn't you? Why didn't any of you? I was waiting for you to—"

_Waiting? You're still waiting, Jackie boy. You're so good, waiting for me to come to you._

"Oh, for fuck's sake, _shut up!_"

Jack spun and snarled at the wall, gripping his hair. He had been in peace for _hours_, and _now_ this little shit of a voice decided to turn up?

"Jack?"

"_Stop_. No. Just—just stay right there. Do not move. _Please_, Pyotr"

He took a few deep breaths and scratched his heart. It did not itch, and the gesture was nearly unconscious, but it was enough to remind him that he was here for a reason.

"…Jack. Please. Are you okay?"

He smoothed his hair out, cleared his throat, and turned. "No. I'm not. I'm actually very stressed at the moment." He could feel that man's gaze burning into his skin. He could practically sense his curiosity, his urge to reach out and give him aid.

"Is there any way I can help?"

"Maybe. But let's go. Where are you taking me?"

"I…want you to meet my king. Are you sure that you want to right now though?"

"Yeah. Let's get this over with, and then we can talk."

They continued on, though Pyotr walked a little closer to Jack, murmuring that if he needed anything, he would be here.

"Thanks. Now, please tell me about your king. Who is he?"

"Surely you have heard of him. The great General?"

"Obviously not. If I didn't know that you all existed, how could I know about your king? Give me a name."

"I can give you a name spoken amongst humans: General Winter. Or General Moroz, as we call him."

"Huh? He's not an…actual spirit, is he? I mean, it was just a phrase that people use to describe Russia's climate in the winter. That's why armies couldn't survive on the front very long. The land grew so cold that…oh. Ah, yeah, I'm stupid. Of _course_ he's more than an expression."

And how disrespectful was it to not believe in another spirit? People had used his own name as a saying, and children did not think he was real. Yet here he was, saying that this titan of winter did not exist either because he had never seen him.

_Hypocritical much, kid? I'll straighten that out when I get there._

Jack bit his cheek to keep from snapping at the voice. "I'm sorry, Pyotr."

"No," the man disagreed, though he was smiling a little. "I understand why you never thought about it. You never saw another like yourself, so you thought that they were only myths. What's that phrase? Seeing is believing. But Jack, how do you explain how snow appeared in places you weren't?"

"Uh, the weather? I mean, it's not like we control it all the time."

"Fair enough. Look. We're here."

The throne room was far more splendid than Sojobo's, and that was most likely due to the fact that it had far less gloom and a great deal more light than the tengu's home. When Jack stepped in, he noted very nervously that there were guards lining the walls. So if he tried to do something stupid here, no doubt he would find himself at the end of more than one blade than he had in Japan.

Giant pillars with decadent patterns of frost lined the great hall, and on the walls were carvings of major cities in Russia. There was even a detailed map spanning one of them, and notable mountain ranges were labeled and marked, as though they were keeping track of certain areas. Jack pointed this out, and Pyotr replied lowly, "Yes, that is to mark where other major colonies of snow spirits reside."

The king was not in the room at the moment, but Jack's skin prickled a few seconds later, sensing an approaching presence, and he looked up at the windows set into the ceiling. They did not have glass covering them, but no snow drifted in through them, so there must have been some magic at work there. Jack stared long and hard at the windows until a strong figure shot in, tailed by a small group of guards. They landed before the majestic throne at the end of the room, laughing, and the leader, the tallest and oldest looking of the group, clapped some of them on the back.

"Well done," King Moroz said to them, his voice booming. "You kept up well. And you, Rochka! You were exceptionally swift today!"

"You grow old," a feminine voice replied lightly. Jack could make out a slim figure from amongst the guards. "Soon, I will be able to race alongside you with ease."

"That is Snegurochka," Pyotr said quietly. Jack watched him turn slightly pink. "She is his granddaughter."

Jack caught a glimpse of her as she swept out of the throne room through a back door. She had beautiful hair, long and white and gleaming which swayed behind her as she left, and her pale lips were full and turned up in a joyous smile. She caught sight of the two and smiled mischievously at them. Jack felt Pyotr cough beside him when the group had gone, so he turned his head up and gave his friend a cheeky grin.

The genuine winter sprite nudged him. "Not a word."

"Okay," Jack hummed as the king approached. He immediately bowed before the royal, who towered over him in a regal coat. His beard was long and white, but he looked like a healthy man who had no fear of the world, and great love for it as well.

"Welcome, Jack Frost." His voice echoed grandly about the great hall. "It is an honor to have you here."

Pyotr made Jack straighten. "Jack, this is my king and lord, Moroz."

The Guardian noticed that they were speaking English, but he wanted to convey as much respect as possible, so he used their native tongue. "The honor is all mine, King Moroz. My apologies for not appearing before you sooner. I should have done so."

The great man looked confused. "And when were you expected to have done this?"

"Any time since I became a spirit. I…did not look hard enough."

Moroz laughed and threw one arm around Jack, the other around Pyotr, leading them out of the throne room and down a different hallway that had open windows displaying the beauty of the mountains beyond. "Since you insist on speaking in Russian, I will do the same. You've learned it well. And I have never once expected you to pay your dues to me. You are not my subject, and your story is well known. You are a bit of a celebrity here."

"I've noticed," Jack admitted embarrassedly.

"Yes, you have given the world a great many wondrous winters. And you are filled with light, I can see. Humans take such joy in the work that you do that most of us stay out of your way so that you might work."

"May I ask why you've called me here?"

"Not only you, dear boy. All of your Guardians, and your lover, the Nightmare King."

Jack tripped and his voice came out as a high squeak. "My—"

"I have great festivities in store for them when they arrive. You have come days sooner than I expected, but that is no trouble. These lands are rightfully your home. Stay. Ah, but excuse me. I have friends visiting from the Andes and I must greet them. Enjoy yourself!"

The giant of a spirit patted him gently on the head and went on down the hall, greeting some of the guards passing by. Outside, the snowstorm had cleared completely, and Jack could see massive clouds rolling over the peaks of the mountain chain, standing out against the blue sky. Jack went to the window and leaned against the stone sill, inhaling the thin, crisp air.

Pyotr came to join him a moment later, switching back to English. "Do you like it here?"

Jack laughed and responded in kind. "I've only been here for, what, fifteen minutes? Give me a couple days. Show me around, and then I'll tell you."

"As you wish."

They were silent for a moment, preferring to admire the view. Jack tried to keep his mind from running a mile a minute, but Pyotr's close presence only reminded him of what he had come here to do. He knew the invitation said that he was to visit sometime later in the week, but he had made the decision to come here as soon as possible. He needed to do this now, start it early before Pitch came here and caught on.

Ah. But what about the General's granddaughter? Didn't Pyotr like her? _Shit. But he held my hand that one time. So…_

Jack stepped in and pressed himself to the spirit's side. It was either crash or burn, now or never, because he did not know how much time he had left. Pyotr looked down, eyebrows raised. "Are you cold?"

"Not exactly. Still don't understand why you wear all those furs, tradition or not. It's more fun to not have anything weigh you down in the sky. Though I suppose it's nice to have someone keeping you grounded." He brushed their hands together. He was never very good at being subtle.

Pyotr did not miss the message. In fact, he understood far too well, because he backed away. "Whatever you and Pitch have fought about—"

"Hey, yeah, why did the king address him as my lover?" Jack asked, stepping back in.

"I told him so. It is common knowledge here."

Jack wondered if he should be mortified. Well, he'd be dead soon enough, so it didn't matter.

_That's the spirit, kid! Go fuck with life until it fucks you back into the ground so that you'll never stand again._

The voice's comments were growing old and dull. In fact, right now, he did not mind it. It only motivated him to take Pyotr's hand again. "Forget about that."

"I cannot. The Nightmare King is someone I respect."

"Pitch said you don't fear him."

"I do not."

"Then what're you afraid of?" He laced their fingers together and felt his stomach churn. Not because he was disgusted by Pyotr's cold touch, but because he was disgusted with himself. His own hands had just caressed ashen skin not too long ago. What was he doing, toying around here?

_I'm saving him from heartbreak._

"I think," Pyotr murmured lowly, despite the fact that they were alone in the corridor, "that you are making a mistake. Was this not what drove you apart the last time?"

"Brought us together, actually." Jack noticed that Pyotr was not moving away now. "So. You have a crush on this 'Rochka' girl?"

"Perhaps."

Jack slid his other hand up to his face. "Yet you don't mind if I do this?"

"I mind if you are using me as a tool to take revenge on Pitch like last time."

The Guardian shook his head, struggling to keep his sad smile to a minimum. "No. Not this time. This is…for the best."

"Ah. So you're doing something stupid."

"I am _not_." Jack hopped up onto the ledge and dragged Pyotr in between his legs, all the while thinking, _Wrong, wrong, this is so wrong._

"Yes, you are. You think you have to go at something alone, so you're trying to push Pitch away. Don't look at me like that. I see right through you. I see right through this." He gestured between them. "You admire me, Jack, and I admire you in return, but not in the way you think."

"You don't know anything."

"I do not need to know. I can see."

For some reason, knowing that made the boy sag in relief against his chest. It _was_ frightening, truly, thinking about it. He was supposed to live on forever, and now that his mortality was at hand, he was expected to cope with it rationally? "You don't understand what's going to happen."

"Then tell me."

"No. Better you don't know. Better no one knows."

"_No_ _one_?"

"Well…I mean. A couple kids in my hometown…I mean, they don't really know, but I think…shit, what does it matter? I just need you to…" He pulled Pyotr down by his long white hair, feeling sicker than ever. "Can you? I just need your scent on me. I need you to mark me. Make it seem like…"

Pyotr fixed his wild blue eyes on his face, then suddenly ripped his hand free, reached down, and cupped him between his legs. Jack jumped—he hadn't thought the man would agree—but quickly leaned in to kiss him. Pyotr stopped him with his other hand and mouthed, "Wait."

Jack did, but did not see what he was waiting for. If anything, he wanted to get on with it, because he felt like he was going to be sick all over his friend's nice furs.

"Do you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Jack whined impatiently. It took him a couple seconds to understand. He could not feel anything. Or rather, while he could feel Pyotr's hand, the only sensation he had was one of cold. He felt no arousal, no heat, nothing. "Shiiiit."

Pyotr pulled away and sat on the ledge beside him. "So you see why this will not work."

"God damn it. I need it to work. I just look like a two-bit whore now."

A heavy sigh. "If…you need to push him away, you needn't sleep with anyone. Simply…be sure that he notices signs. Not that I'm saying you should do this. I think you should tell him."

"No. He'll freak out way more than I am. I don't want that. He's busy. I can't."

_Yeah, you're handlin' this quite well, kid. I'm proud of you. Just be patient._

Jack wondered how mad Pyotr would be if he threw up on him. He just wanted some peace and quiet in his head.

"Hm. Well, remember, when your life is falling about you in pieces, that I advised you against this."

"Gee, thanks."

"Understand that I do not mean to be cruel. I am simply reminding you."

"Yeah, yeah." He drew his legs up to his chest and buried his head in his knees. "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore."

_You're waiting. Waiting for me to come and take you away, Jackie boy. Don't worry, I'll be there soon._

"Jack. You're shivering."

He gripped his arms in an attempt to stop. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess right now. This just isn't my day."

Something warm and heavy was draped over his shoulders. He looked up and brushed his fingers through the fur of Pyotr's engulfing coat. It smelled of frigid air, of deep storms and the darkest crevices of snowy mountains. It smelled of pure winter. It did _not_ smell like Pitch Black. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

"Thanks, but I'm not cold."

"I can see that. I figure it's your nerves. I do not want to actively participate in driving a wedge between you two. But…keep the coat. It might help. Many things can be implied by a simple article of clothing."

Jack's eyebrows slowly lifted with understanding. He leaned against Pyotr gratefully. "Okay. Thanks. I can work with this for now."

"You realize you're only hurting yourself by hurting him."

Jack's slender hand crept up to scratch at his heart. "Yeah."

"Yet you'll go through with whatever this is?"

"Sure."

"You don't have to."

"I know," Jack said tiredly. "I know."

So they sat there for a long while in companionable, comforting silence, while Jack wondered, despite the fact that it was not too late for him to take it all back, why he chose not to. Jack's fingers strayed to his hoodie pocket, and he pulled out the necklace, fastening it around his neck.

"What is that?"

"Pitch gave it to me."

_He gave you a piece of junk, kid!_

Jack gripped the arrowhead in his fist, feeling its sharp edges bite into his flesh. All he wanted was for that stupid voice to shut up. That was all.

_Not happening today, Jackie boy._

The arrowhead was hot in his palm, as hot as Pitch. It burned. But it was good.

_I'd stop doing that, kid. You know it's worthless. Just take it off and put it away. Aren't you trying to show Pitch you don't want him anymore anyway?_

Jack knew Pyotr was watching the emotions flit about his face, but he remained silent and gripped the charm even tighter, chanting silently to himself, _Go away. Shut up. Go away. Shut up._

_It's worthless, kid! That thing's shit!_

The arrowhead burned on. _Go away. You're worthless. I don't have to listen to you. Just—_

_Take it off! You hear me? Ta—_

Silence. Sweet, simple silence.

Jack let go of the breath he had been holding, chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead. He nearly pitched forward off the ledge as the head rush struck him out of nowhere. It was as though a shield had slid through and over his mind, soothing his aching temple, calming his nerves. Pyotr's hands on his shoulders stopped him from falling.

"Jack! I've had enough. You need to—"

"No, no," Jack gasped quickly, waving him off. "I'm alright! Holy crap, I'm alright! Gimme a sec."

He clenched his eyes shut and asked into the darkness of his mind, _You still there, you son of a bitch?_

Only silence.

_So I can't hear you? Ha! Suck it!_

Hysterical laughter bubbled up from his lips, and he could hardly hear Pyotr telling him to look at him, to tell him what the problem was. Oh, he did not care if he was going to drop dead a second later. At least that voice was gone! He opened his hand and looked at the arrowhead. His skin had been cut and was bleeding very slowly, and there was a deep imprint where the charm had been pressed into, but he did not mind the pain at all. He could think freely without having that wretched presence comment.

"Pyotr," he rasped, "I think I'll be okay for a little while."

As long as he didn't have that little voice constantly reminding him of the hellish nightmare he was in, he could face death with a little more ease than before.

"I don't believe you," Pyotr replied flatly. "You require help, and you need to tell me—"

"No, really. I'm okay for now. I…" He looked again at the charm. "Pitch has no idea, but somehow…he _did_ know. This necklace. It's really something."

"Jack Frost, I have half a mind to string you up by your toes if you do not give me some information."

Jack hesitated. What could he say to get Pyotr off his back? Certainly nothing about the spot on his chest. And he couldn't mention the screaming skull. That would be too obvious. So he went with, "I've been hearing voices."

Pyotr still didn't look like he believed him. "And?"

Jack shook his head. "I think…it's got something to do with the people who are targeting Pitch. The voice has been threatening me, telling me I'm going to die. Telling me he's going to come for me. I didn't want to tell Pitch. I want him to focus."

There was a long minute of stiff staring. Then the man sighed and buried his head in his hands. "You will be the death of me, Jack."

_Nah. Just of myself. But that's okay now. I'm okay with this._ He was still lying to himself, without a doubt. But talking himself down from the mental cliff of depression was a skill he needed right now. "I'm sorry. Really, I am."

Another sigh. "Right. Okay. How about I just give you the tour now?"

"That'd be a good idea."

They hopped off the windowsill and went for a walk. Jack remembered how he had promised Pitch that he would return after a little while. He wondered if the Boogeyman was still waiting for him. Or if he had gone out searching for him.

_I hope you're angry at me now, Pitch. I hope you're angry that I haven't come home. I hope you're out there wasting your time searching for me. Be angry. Be distrustful. Believe that I am not what you thought I was. Do this for me. I love you so much. So do this one thing for me. Hate me._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the lateness. Something big happened. Something bad. I cannot say more. With that, however, I must take a two to three week hiatus to get this sorted out. These are the kind of problems that must be dealt with swiftly. I'm sorry for the short notice, but this is necessary.

Have this as consolation: tobiasbotte .tumblr image/ 75950847453

Remove the spaces.


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